


Sweet Dreams

by smoulderingsunrise



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Dean, Angst, Character Death, Drug Abuse, How To Say Goodbye, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sex, Suicide, Suicide Notes, Wild Mountain Thyme, danny boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7361338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoulderingsunrise/pseuds/smoulderingsunrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is in love with Castiel. He was from the moment he saw Cas in the bar. He loves him, and hunts with him. Cas is like his brother. Dean can't live without him. He knew that Cas was for him. It's a good love, but dangerous. the kind that makes you sweat at night, and go crazy during the day. Dean doesn't know what would become of him if Cas ever died. Dean would be a train wreck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A perfect broken image of the future

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so, so sorry for leaving you where I will leave you. I'm so, so sorry for where this will be going. You will find out what happens later, when I post the next chapter. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When all was new  
> When the only person I looked after  
> Was always you  
> When the road was still open  
> Still wild and free  
> And we’d sprint down it  
> Just you and me
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When we were still young  
> When there were still stories to be made  
> And still songs to be sung  
> When we were still innocent  
> We were kind and naive  
> When I looked out for you  
> And you looked up to me
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> Before the world caved in  
> When the demons we fought  
> Were outside and not within  
> When the sky was still open  
> And we’d watch the stars fall  
> When the wars were someone else’s problem  
> They wouldn’t touch us at all
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When together we were  
> We’d be laughing and cheering  
> All around town we’d be heard  
> But now we’re older  
> It’s just not the same  
> And sometimes it’s hard  
> To say each other’s name
> 
> So take me back to the start  
> Before we saw the blood and the wars  
> When nothing was impossible  
> We only had open doors  
> But now it’s hard to push on  
> The world has shattered our hearts  
> So I’m begging you, please  
> Take me back to the start
> 
> -thelonelydaydreamer (Quotev)

Florence, Kansas

Cas woke up, as always, just as his alarm went off. He blinked his eyes a few times, to get rid of the sleepiness, and then once more for good measure. Cas groaned, rolled out of bed, and stumbled over to the clock: still playing classic rock. He pulled on his regular ‘just-out-of-bed-but-not-quite-awake shirt’ and stumbled to the kitchen to make coffee. He took out the necessary grounds, and waited, He always hated this part. ‘Coffee should be instantaneous’, he thought as the beeper sounded, and he poured his first cup of joe. Just a few sugars (never more that three) and one cream, and he was ready to go. 

Cas stood up, pushed in his chair, and opened the door to finish his morning ritual. It always concluded with reading the paper (to see if there was a job opening. Cas needed a higher paying one), and watching Missouri tend to her garden. The day continued, and Cas went around his apartment, tidying up, and reading The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, by J.R.R Tolkien, one of Cas’ favorites. He fantasized on how it would feel to find love, go on an adventure, and make lifelong friends. Seven o'clock rolls around, and Cas hops in his Lincoln Continental Mk. V. he heads over to the bar where he works and puts on his apron. The last guy (Cas doesn’t know his name, despite almost 10 months working with him) pats him on the shoulder.

“Hey, man. Good luck with this guy over here. He’s been drinking for almost two hours and shows no signs of stopping. You might need to call an ambulance or something if he doesn’t lighten up. I’ve tried talking to him, but he just waves me away, mumbling something about hunting”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind”

Cas walks up to the man, noticing his ruggedly handsome…….’No’, Cas chides himself. ‘I am not here to pick up some guy I met at the place I work. But, man, those emerald eyes, the flannel really hugs his muscles….’ Cas slapped himself awake. 

“Hello, sir. Having a rough night?”

“Shut up. I don’t need your help” the stranger retorts.   
A large man chimes in. He’s sitting next to the stranger, and he’s nowhere near as drunk.

“C’mon dude. Leave him alone.”

Cas looks at him. “Who are you?”

“Never mind my name, you’ll probably forget it. Anyway, I should go.” 

The mountain of a man stands up, pats stranger number two on the shoulder with a “See you later” and sets down about 200 dollars.

“That should cover me and my partner here, with about 50 bucks for the tip. Thanks”

“Thank you, sir” Cas responds. He turns to the man still at the bar, after his partner let. 

“Well, you’ve been drinking up our supply for a good two hours. You could at least tell me your name” Cas explodes. He can’t help it. The man is just sitting there, drinking. Although, cas can’t argue with the extra income. That means the possibility of a higher pay, and with how he’s living now, well, Cas needs it.

“Alright, alright. You win. I’m Winchester. Like the gun. Dean Winchester.”

“Hmm.”

Cas knows that his indifferent response isn’t the right thing to do. After all, this Dean Winchester character could be having some real problems. You just don’t know why some people come to drink. But the night goes on, and Dean becomes more and more tipsy with every drink; finally he can’t stand up and is so far gone that he doesn’t remember why he’s here, or anything about his location. All Dean cares about is getting his next drink. Money isn’t a problem for him. He’s hustled enough pool players for all the drinks he’s consuming tonight, and maybe enough for a repeat tomorrow night.

When midnight rolls around and Cas starts to let everyone know that last drinks are coming up, Dean is too drunk to acknowledge it, let alone comprehend the sentence. He just sits there, staring to the bottom of his glass. The bar slowly starts to clear out, and Cas sees that Dean isn't moving. In fact, he won’t be moving for a while. He’s passed out, drunk. So Cas does what any self respecting man does, when he sees that his customers are half dead, lying asleep on the bar counter. He nudges Dean awake with utmost care, and notifies him of the closing time. 

“Where do you live, Dean? Tell me. I can drive you there.” 

Dean mutters something unintelligible, something about his “Baby” and “Motel”

“Dean? Which motel are you staying at?. Is it near here?” 

Dean is no help. He passes out again.

“Ok. Dean. I’ll take you to my place-Ok?-I’ll take you there.”

Dean is still passed out. Cas loads (with some difficulty) Dean into his car, and heads off towards his apartment. 

“Here we are. It’s not big, but I can give you the bed. Is that ok?”

“Ugghh”

“Ok, then” Cas concedes. If Dean is going to be helpless, then the least Cas can do is help him inside.”

When Dean is inside, in bed, and almost washed up, (‘It’s very hard to shower a drunken man’ Cas reflects) Cas relaxes on his five-star floor, instantly envious of Dean in Cas’ bed. Cas pulls out whatever pillows he can find, and that one wool blanket, the one with the satin lining that his mother bought for him when he moved out, and Cas nods off to sleep.

“What the--?”

Blinding light greets Dean’s eyes as he jolts awake with a killer headache. The hard bed doesn’t help much either. Dean thinks he has stayed in some pretty crappy motels, but this bed takes the cake. The box springs are obviously poking out, and whatever is left of the pillows has probably been claimed by the moths. 

“Where am I?” 

Dean asks to empty air as he groans up from a soggy sleep. ‘I must have got laid last night’ Dean thinks to himself as he looks around the sparsely furnished room. A painting of an angel, a few tapestries, and two windows are all that garnish the blue walls. The clock by the bed is blaring out classic rock, which Dean approves of.

“I musta got a pretty cool chick last night” Dean announces to empty air.

He hears a noise, ‘obviously someone’s up’, he thinks to himself as he wanders the apartment until he finds the source of the noise. 

It’s a man, ‘And a handsome one at that’ Dean silently laughs. 

“Hello, sleepy head. It’s almost ten o’clock. I thought you were going to stay in bed forever.”

“Well, stranger, who are you, and where the hell am I?” Dean snaps “And why the hell am I in your house, sleeping in you bed?”

“Well,” Cas explains, “you got pretty drunk last night, at the bar. I was on duty, and you weren’t awake, so I brought you here. Have some bacon.”

Dean gives a confused, and grateful look, with a muttered “Thanks” before cleaning up the plate. 

“I’m Cas, by the way.”

Dean is too busy stuffing his face full of food to even care. 

“That’s great.” Dean grunts through a full mouth.

“Wow, you’re hungry. What do you want to drink? We have coffee, juice, water…” 

Dean gives him a strange look. 

“Dude. I’m not on a freaking date.” 

“Well it’s the least I can do.” 

“Fine. Coffee. Black.” Dean concludes. 

“Okay. One coffee, black, coming right up.” Cas jokes. 

Dean cracks a smile. ‘How cute’, Dean thinks to himself. He’s been trying to remember what happened last night, and why he suddenly likes this man, who’s making him breakfast. It might be the little inflictions of the tone of his voice, or maybe the way that he jokingly cares for Dean. Dean can’t decide. 

When his coffee comes, Cas places it in front of him, and tells him to enjoy it, because “It’s the only coffee I have for the month”. When the last of the dark liquid leaves the cup to be poured down Dean’s throat, he finally feels refreshed. The coffee’s in him, the headache’s almost gone, and he’s finally relaxed in what feels like a thousand years. 

“Sam!” Dean shoots up. “Where’s Sam? You know, the guy, big guy who was with me?”

“What? There was someone with you, but he must have left. Were you two planning to go somewhere together?”

“No. He’s my brother. We never go anywhere without each other” Dean laughs “Well, actually, i never let him go anywhere without me.” Dean says.

“Ok. So, You got a car, or something?”

“Yeah. She’s a ‘67 Chevy impala. Blacker than my soul. Here are the keys.” Dean pulls them out of his pocket. 

“So we know that he didn’t take the car, so what now?” Cas questions.

“Sam couldn’t have gone anywhere without people noticing. He’s a regular moose. Big guy, 6’4”, brownish hair, and amazing facial features. No, we’d know if he turned up anywhere. That guy’s a chick magnet.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll help you look for your brother. What motel are you staying at?”

“The one just on the corner of Myrtle and Seventh. I think it’s called ‘The Red Twister Motel’”

“So that’s where we’ll start”

That day when Cas took Dean to the motel, they found nothing: Sam had clearly left. Dean’s baby was gone, replaced with a note from the front office that read ‘Sorry Dean. You were too drunk for me to bring you. I’ll bring back the car and all your stuff later. Why don’t you ask out that dude from the bar? You know, that bartender. You were checking him out.’ Cas turns to Dean. 

“Really? Me?” Cas questions.

“No.” Dean turns away. He knows that Sam’s right, but he can’t face that, for now. He also knows that Cas can see him blush, but that’s easy. He can blame that on the heat, or embarrassment about how he feels for Cas-’No. I can’t let this interfere with my work.’-But Dean feels like he could risk it-just this once-for Cas. After all, there’s no reason that he can’t have love while he’s a hunter. He has Sam, so why couldn't he love Cas?

Cas was confused. What did Dean see in him? He’s just a lowly bartender, a nobody, just serving drinks at night to help strangers through the night and make small talk with them. So what was so important about him? Nothing, he supposed.

“Alright. Let’s hit the road.” Dean got back in Cas’ car. “Well? You coming? I think I know where sam might be. We were going to do a job out in Glasgow, Montana, about a shifter. Nothing too big, but my uncle, Bobby, more of a father to Sam and I, but I told Sam that Bobby didn’t need help, but he said he did. We fought, and that’s where he might be.”

“Bobby? And What’s a shifter? And hunting? You hunt monsters?” Cas was incredulous. So everything he knew about Dean Winchester was fake. “What? Are you telling me that monsters are real? And ghosts? And-and everything?” 

“Yeah. See, I knew you were great. You handled that quite well.” Dean says with a smirk. “Now c’mon” He patted the chair seat. “Let’s go.” 

The trip started out how one would expect it to go. From Kansas to Montana, the trip was great. Not too much trouble from Dean, and not too many questions from Cas. But Dean was a stickler for the motel beds. He insisted that he had to the the bed closest to the door because, “that’s the one I get when Sam’s here”

Cas did have questions, but it was mostly “So it’s all real?” over and over again. He took the bed that Dean didn’t want, and he jokingly told Dean, “If you sneak into my bed tonight, I might have to leave” but Dean looked hurt. Cas thought that Dean was getting his hopes up too soon. 

When the two arrived in Glasgow, Montana, The first thing they noticed was a lack of people. Cars and animals were abundant, but no signs of people. All the shops were intact, all the telephone wires up; it just looked like a modern-day ghost town. 

“Strange. I’ve never seen a town like this.” Dean pondered. 

“What, towns that are terrorized by shifter aren’t usually like this at all?”

“No. In fact, they’re pretty lively.” Dean wasn’t sure what to think. 

Cas noticed his little frown. “Hey, everything Ok?” 

“No. If Sam’s here, which I know he is, I’ve been tracking his phone, He’s hurt or dead, or captured. None of which I like.” Dean set his face, and started walking in towards the police building on their left. “Doors are locked, Cas. Not sure why, but the lights are on.”

“Well, you could try-”

Cas was cut off as Dean slammed his foot against the glass doors, causing them to shatter

“That was easy” Cas admitted. 

“Yeah, well, that’s as easy as it’s going to get.”

“Hey-Dean-How’d you know where to kick? Just curious.”

“Well, It’s part of the job description.” Dean didn’t sound interested in talking about it. 

Cas scattered in after Dean. He watched what Dean was doing, and how he did it. The way the rifled through the drawers, picked the gun locker open, and professionally loaded, and cocked the guns, the little smile he gave, and how much more confident he looked when holding said gun…

“Ok” Dean started. “We’re going to need silver. You got some?” 

“Huh-No.” Cas gave a start. That question had lured him out of his stupor. ‘His stupor of Dean’ he thought to himself. 

“Follow me. I think I know where we can find some.” Dean storms over to the nearest jewelry store, and tries the doors. “They’re locked, again.”

Cas comes over. “Can I do it?”

“Do what?”

“You know, kick in the doors.”

“Fine” Dean smiles. ‘It’s so cute how he wants to do stuff that I do’, Dean thinks. 

Cas raises his foot, and plants is as hard a s he can against the doors. Nothing happens. He tries again, and again. The doors shake, but do not break.

“Here” Dean suppresses a laugh. “I think you scared away the dust bunnies. Try it more like this-” Dean slams his foot just by the door handle, and subsequently, the door swings open.   
He immediately crouches, raises his gun, and motion Cas to follow suit. 

Cas crouches, and follows Dean into the shop. “Where is everybody?”

“Shh!” Not so loud!” Dean whispers. 

“Sorry!” Cas whispers in response. “What are we doing here, in jewlery shop? I thought we were looking for weapons?”

“Well genius, jewelry is silver, so we smelt it.”

“Oh.” Cas is confused. “How will we do that?”

“We’re gonna use your body to heat up the metal.” Dean smiles

Cas twists his face into the side, and scrunches up his features. “Dean, I’m not a furnace.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t matter. You’re certainly hot enough.” Dean smiles to himself. 

Cas decides to stop talking. He follows Dean into the back as he calls out “Clear!”. Dean stands up, and tells cas that it’s safe to do so. They gather as much silver as they can carry, and bring it out of the shop, to find the street’s not empty. 

Sam is standing there. “Hey guys. Dean. Who is this?”

“Son of a bitch, Sam. Oh. This is the bar guy. Cas.” Dean fidgets.

Sam holds out his arm. “Nice to meet you, Cas.” 

“Yes. Nice to meet you too.” Cas shakes the hand, silently cursing himself. Why couldn’t he have said something cool? Like Dean. Or he could’ve been a smartass, or even a jock. But no. He had to go with ‘Yes. Nice to meet you too.’ He probably looks like an idiot in Sam’s eyes.

“Right then. Dean-”

“Hey. Don’t you talk to me like everything’s alright.” Dean interjects. “You left, Sam. You stole my baby. Why didn’t you give me a heads up? I told you that Bobby could handle it.”

“Whoah. Chill, dude.” Sam backs up and holds up his hands, as if in surrender. 

“No. You tell me when you’re gonna take my baby out. You know I love that car.”

“Ok, ok. But anyway, I found something odd about this shifter.” Sam pulls out a map. He motions to the circled areas. “Look. All the shifter sightings have been in one area, with this as the epicenter. Don't you find that weird?”

Cas speaks up “What? I just found out that all this exists. Can I get up to speed?”

“What? Dean, you told him?” Sam questions Dean. 

Dean throws his hands up into the air. “Yeah. I told him. Big reveal! What was I supposed to tell him? Huh? ‘Oh, my brother might be dead, and hey, I need to take you along to find him, and by the all the monsters and nightmares you have? Yeah. They’re all real too.’? No!”

Sam placates Dean. “Ok. Not your fault.” He turns to Cas. “Welcome to our dysfunctional family.”  
“Thank you” Cas stupidly replies.

Sam and Dean turn back to the map, leaving Cas to admire the surroundings. The beautiful contrasts of blues and greens of the sky and the forests pair amazingly with the browns of the mountains. Just like Dean’s eyes, Cas thinks. 

He can hear the two brothers arguing in the distance, when he sees some movement. He starts to speak up when he feels a sharp pain in his neck, and the world starts to go dark, and tipsy. He can see the two boys still arguing over that stupid map when he passes out. The last thing he remembers is being carried away. 

He wakes up to find himself tied to a pole, in a sewer. The bindings are tight, but that doesn’t stop Cas from fruitlessly trying to escape. He thinks he can almost reach that corroded bit of pipe with his toe. 

Suddenly, Cas can hear splashes from off in the distance. They sound big, very big, Cas thinks. “Hello? Sam? Dean?” Cas’ voice wavers. “Anybody?” He doesn’t want to sound weak and helpless, but that’s probably exactly how he sounds right now. The adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins don’t help, and neither does the fact that he can feel his blood down his face. 

Cas does a mental check up. He can move his feet just fine, so that’s good. His fingers and toes still work. So do his neck, back, and arms. He moves on to his hips and knees. “Ah!-” there’s the problem. Cas’ left knee is probably broken. Big help he’s turning out to be, captured and all that. He only hopes that Sam and Dean can find him and save him in time. He doesn’t want to end up as some monsters dinner. 

The sounds are getting closer now, and Cas is starting to sweat. He can’t help it, but the fear starts to get to his head. He starts out fidgeting, then tugging, and thrashing to get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. The only thing running through his head. The water isn’t helping to conceal his movement; He’s pretty sure that whatever’s coming can feel him, smell him. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. The little voice in his head is getting louder, louder, until it’s not so little anymore  
It’s in his head, a scream, then in his mouth, and he can’t help but let it spill out. “Shit. Shit. SHIT”  
It’s a full-on panic attack now: he’s writhing, probably coating himself with whatever god-awful things-whatever god-awful remains are down there. 

Cas always thought that it was weird to see yourself in a mirror. That is was so novel to be able to see yourself in a reflection. He was wrong. The creature that comes out of the darkness is himself. A perfect broken image of himself. He can’t see himself, but he’s pretty sure that he looks like the creature. He can see the cuts he’s probably sustained, and his-the creature’s-knee is pushed out to the side at an odd angle.

“Well, It’s nice to see you’re awake.” It drawls in Cas’ voice.   
Cas decided to stay silent.

“Not very talkative, are we? Well, that’s alright. I can get you to talk. About Dean, or even Sam.”

Cas keeps his mouth shut. Oh, it’s hard. He wants more than anything to yell, to scream out, to warn Dean, tell him that the shifter took his shape, to tell him to be careful, but most of all, he wants Dean here. He wants Dean beside him, to tell him that everything will be alright, to cuddle him, and hold him tight, and when this is all done, to kiss him and maybe even make love to him. He just wants Dean. He thinks there will be a future with Dean. He hopes there will be a future with Dean. 

His flannel, his jacket, his smell of cheap soap, and hs hugs. Cas hasn’t received a hug from Dean yet, but he dreams about it now. He’d probably hug you tight, wrap his arms under yours, and wrap you in a cocoon of warmth. He’d never let you go, and let you cry in his shoulder until it’s all better. 

And, as if by magic, Dean appears. He’s standing there, with Sam, and they fire on the shifter. It looks hopeful, but the shifter changes into Sam. Dean falters, and that’s all the shifter needs. It runs upm grabs a gun, and dashes away, into the darkness. 

“Stay here Sam.” Dean yells. “Stay with Cas. Make sure he’s alright. I’ll be back.” he runs off, the splashing water announcing his departure. Sam checks over Cas. Shots echo in the distance, And Cas must have looked worried because Sam reassures him. 

“Dean’s going to be fine. Don’t worry about him. Worry about yourself. Let’s see…” Sam mutters “Well, you’ve got a few nasty cuts, and your knee is broken, but other than that, you’re ok.” Sam starts to untie Cas.

That’s when Dean shows up. His hand on his gun, he comes up. “I got the mother.” Easy prey too, just shot him once, and he died. Musta hit the heart my first try. Let’s go Sammy.”

“Ok.” Sam cuts off Cas’ binding, and picks him up. “I’ll carry you” 

They walk out of the sewer, with some difficulty. Cas can’t exactly climb up the ladder, or open the grate. They get out on the street, and Dean is standing by the car. Sam is flabbergasted. He turns to what Cas has now monikered Dean I, the one who’s with Sam, and then back again at Dean II, by the Impala. 

“Dean-”

“Yes?” Dean I and II say in unison

“Ok. Dean I, give me your arm.”

“Why?”

“You know why. To check.”

“I’m your brother. Trust me. Let’s go Sam. And hey, I’ll let you drive my baby.” Dean I says

“You’d never let me do that. You were furious.” Sam pulls out his silver knife, and cuts Dean I. He hisses, and draws back. His skin burns. 

Sam’s eyes narrow and he drops Cas to pull out his gun. Dean I, who Cas reminds himself is the shifter, and Dean do the same. Three shots echo off the buildings. One of them isn’t Sam’s


	2. Rememberances of Yesterday, Dreams of tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester is in love with Castiel. He was from the moment he saw Cas in the bar. He loves him, and hunts with him. Cas is like his brother. Dean can't live without him. He knew that Cas was for him. It's a good love, but dangerous. The kind that makes you sweat at night, and go crazy during the day. Dean doesn't know what would become of him if Cas ever died. Dean would be a train wreck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, sorry I haven't posted sooner, but I was busy, and I need a mental break from the end of last chapter to gather my thoughts. Anyways, have fun with this one, guys. I hope you'll like it. Quick note-There will be more chapters. THIS IS NOT THE END.
> 
> Mini spoiler alert!!!!!: At the end, I was crying so hard, I had to take a good, long break, to even finish the chapter.
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When all was new  
> When the only person I looked after  
> Was always you  
> When the road was still open  
> Still wild and free  
> And we’d sprint down it  
> Just you and me
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When we were still young  
> When there were still stories to be made  
> And still songs to be sung  
> When we were still innocent  
> We were kind and naive  
> When I looked out for you  
> And you looked up to me
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> Before the world caved in  
> When the demons we fought  
> Were outside and not within  
> When the sky was still open  
> And we’d watch the stars fall  
> When the wars were someone else’s problem  
> They wouldn’t touch us at all
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When together we were  
> We’d be laughing and cheering  
> All around town we’d be heard  
> But now we’re older  
> It’s just not the same  
> And sometimes it’s hard  
> To say each other’s name
> 
> So take me back to the start  
> Before we saw the blood and the wars  
> When nothing was impossible  
> We only had open doors  
> But now it’s hard to push on  
> The world has shattered our hearts  
> So I’m begging you, please  
> Take me back to the start
> 
> -thelonelydaydreamer (Quotev)

Glasgow, Montana

Pain. Pain, blocking out everything. It’s all Cas knows, the dirt and boiling asphalt branding his skin, and broken glass cutting him up. His knee is definitely screwed up, and his nose is overwhelmed by the smell of sewage and blood. He’s in a sensory Hell, too busy trying not to pass out again, and totally ignorant of the outside world. 

He can hear three gunshots, and some tiny corner of his brain wonders whose they are. The majority is focusing on surviving. What seems like twenty minutes, but is probably two seconds after he falls, He feels a crushing weight. It’s a person, but Cas doesn’t know who it is. Whether it’s the shifter, Sam, or Dean, Cas doesn’t care. He want relief. 

A scream wakes him from his stupor. It’s long, drawn out, bloodcurdling. He can tell that it’s bad, but he doesn’t know whether it’s of victory or failure. All he knows is the screamer must want, or regret something pretty badly. He knows that that person is in pain, intense physical pain.

The scream cuts through his brain once again, and this time, it’s louder, more distinct. He still has no idea to what the person is saying. Cas can see someone run up to him, and pull the body off. He can almost see Dean-is that his name?- lower himself over a body. Cas can’t tell whose it is. The scream is closer; he assumes that Dean is the owner, but then again, it could be the shifter. It’s like the old stories you hear about war, Cas thinks. You forget about everything that’s going on, after you heart rate peaks at 175 or above. That is what’s happening to Cas. Tunnel vision, and all that jazz. 

Slowly, it begins to clear up.

“Sam! Hey, Sammy, It’ll all be ok, ‘ll make sure you get better.”

Frantic pleading, and Cas can only assume that he was dropped so Sam could arm himself. Reasonable course of action, Cas thinks. 

“C’mon, Up you go, The hospital staff will fix you, Sam.” 

Cas can pick out Dean’s voice, and faint ghosts of words, but he thinks that the meaning is clear enough. The silent cry, the one you feel at night, it closes your throat, and your eyes tear up, but no sound exits. The silent cry is horrible, and Cas can hear it in Dean’s voice. It’s quite obvious that Dean is strong for Sam, and Sam, Dean. 

Cas can feel arms tug at him, pulling him to stand up, most likely to get to the car, Cas thinks. He is semi-conscious now, but the fog his brain had erected to protect him is still strong. And like a snap, it all clears up. The weather in Colorado isn’t as fast as this, Cas giddily thinks. He blacks out. 

Frances Mahon Deaconess Hospital: Glasgow, Montana

Time has passed, and Cas wakes up to find himself in a hospital bed, bandaged up, and his cut is miraculously stitched back together.   
“Dean? Sam? Anyone?” He calls out, peering outside the door. 

“Hey-You alright?” Dean comes rushing towards him. “You’re looking good.” Dean says with a concerned face.

“Yeah. I just woke up. What happened?” Cas inquires.

“Well, you remember when e found out the shifter had taken my form, handsome devil that he is, and Sam dropped you?”

“Yeah.”

“So after that, we fired at the shifter, me and Sam, and I hit it. Sam’s bullet went wide, and the shifter his Sam. They won’t let me in to check on him.” Dean was distraught. It was evident that he had been awake all night, possibly longer, worrying over Sam. The bags under his eyes were darker than ever, and his hands were shaking. 

“Hey, listen, I’m sure that Sam will be fine. Nothing to worry about. He’s a fighter.” Cas smiled. It was good to see Dean, and all he wanted to do was just run his fingers through Dean’s hair, and hug him close, but that wasn’t what he needed. Cas decided to give him a friendly pat on the shoulder, with a “He’ll be fine.”

The next few days were rough for Dean. The hospital orderlies were not admissive with Dean, always giving him some reason as to why he couldn’t see Sam. Dean took it as a load of crap, but Cas insisted that they knew best. Cas always insisted that they knew best. Whether it was the shots that Dean had to sign off on, or the insurance dean had to verify, Cas was adamant about it all. He really is a great friend, Dean caught himself thinking more than a few times.

About one week after their admittance to the hospital, Sam could receive visitors. Dean, of course, pushed Cas out of the way to rush to Sam’s side. 

“Hey there, little brother. How’s it going? Did they treat you right? I swear, if they didn’t-”

“Hey. It’s fine.” Sam chuckled. “I was hit in the chest, but I think they removed the bullet. I’m pretty sure that everything’s fine.”

“You sure? ‘Cause if it’s not….”

“No Dean, I’m fine.”

It was all very amusing to Cas, how much Dean cared about his brother. He wished someone would love him like that. Sam stayed how he was for a bit. He was always under watch from the doctors and the nurses. Sam’s favorite by far was Tessa. He claimed how she would always come to check on him, and how nicely she would treat him, but Dean and Cas never saw her. Sam would argue, and tell them that she went right by them, many a time, but the other boys were blind to her. Cas was usually around, but when he wasn’t, he was getting coffee. Staying up all night could be good for Dean. 

This worried Dean after a while, when Sam began to call out to her. Dean would look around, and she would be gone. It was not soon after that Dean figured out why. 

“Sam, you’re delusional” Dean couldn’t face it, but he knew he had to. “You call out to this Tessa girl, and we never see her.” He couldn’t bear it, so caught up in saving Sam, and making sure that he came out alive, to even wonder if that also meant coming out in one piece. It was all he thought about, saving Sam. Even when Sam got out of Hell, He was so preoccupied with having Sam back, that he didn’t notice, at least for a while, that Sam wasn’t Sam. It was his soul missing back then, and now it’s his mind. ‘Something is wrong here” Dean can’t help but catch himself thinking. 

“What’s up, Sam?” Dean barged in the hospital room. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”  
Dean turned his head to the side, almost embarrassed in this seemingly unprecedented outburst. He lowered his tone of voice. “I mean-is there something I should know, to help you?” Dean wants to sound caring, but he’s pretty sure that he doesn’t. 

“Uh..No. why would there be something you should know?” Sam scrunched his eyebrows and turned his head to the side, in an almost comical manner, with all the facial expressions he has.   
“Is there something you should know?” 

“Well I don’t know, Sam!” Dean was shouting, not caring about who heard. “I’m your brother, I care about you. All I want is to see you up and walking, and I would give anything to see you just be yourself. I would do anything to see you happy again. After Jess died, you lost a little bit of yourself, and that broke me up.” It’s hard for Dean to hold back the tears, and Sam can see that. Dean pauses, almost about to break, but manages to hold himself together. “And when dad died, I could see the light leave your eyes. And demon blood, Sam! The demon blood! Ruby was using you. And-and I thought I would never see you again, when you went to Hell. It was all I could to to not check out, Sam. to not turn off the lights. It hurt, so bad, to not be with you, and all I want is to see you smile.”

“Wow..Ok, Dean, I’m fine” Sam shakes his head. “So the doctors told me I was going crazy, nothing big”

‘No Sam, that’s big.”

Sam turned away, crossing his arms as he did so. It was clear that the discussion was over.   
Dean and Sam didn’t talk much after that. Sam was still in the hospital, even after three weeks. Mostly because of his head. The doctors wanted to see if he was going to be on his feet soon. Dean had plenty of free time, mostly talking to Cas, and time flew, but Sam was getting worse. 

It would make itself evident after only a while, and in small ways. Sam would be caught talking increasingly about Tessa, and would sometimes cough up blood. The blood became more frequent and Sam would push the call button more and more, each time looking more serious. 

A doctor pulled Dean aside on the most recent of Sam’s episodes. 

“Hello. I’m Doctor Gaines, the doctor in charge of your brother. I have to say, he’s getting worse, and if we don’t find a cure for this, we might lose him.” The doctor looked sympathetic, he really did. Dean, of course, wouldn't have it.

“Listen up, you son of a bitch. We will not lose him, because you’re gonna do your goddamn job, and save him.”

“We’re doing our best, but-”

“No. Don’t give me any of this ‘best, but’ crap. I want answers, results, cures. You will do everything in your power to save him. I almost lost him once, and i’m not gonna go through that again.”

“Yes, we are trying our hardest, but we can’t predict everything.”

“Clearly you’re not.” Dean stormed off, pulling Cas along as he went, almost spilling his coffee. “C’mon, buddy. We’re leaving this crackpot pace.” 

Cas could barely stay on his feet. Why would Dean act this way? Why would he leave his brother? It was all very confusing. 

 

Sam sat up in bed. “Tessa? Hello?”

Dr. Gaines gave a start. “Hello, Sam. Uh, who is Tessa?”

“Her. You don’t see her?” Sam pointed desperately at the wall opposite to Dr. Gaines. “She’s right there. Black hair. You don’t see her?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” 

Sam looked around, as if searching for some concrete evidence of her existence.   
“Nobody but you can see me, Sam” 

“What?”

Dr. Gaines looked concerned

“Sam, you know this Tessa doesn’t exist, right? It’s very dangerous to your mental health to think of her as if she’s alive.” Dr. Gaines cautioned. 

“Do you know what I am?” Tessa laid her hand on Sam’s arm.

“I don’t want to know.”

“A reaper, Sam, You’re dying. Right now.”

 

Durum Restaurant and Bar: Glasgow, Montana

Dean sat with Cas outside the hospital, at a table in a small bar, just down the road from the hospital. It’s a nice place, Cas thinks. The little tables and flowers provide a nice background with the mountains in the distance. Despite the chill in the air, it’s a cozy establishment. The scotch makes it better. 

“You fought with Sam?” Cas asks.

“Yeah, he’s just being my little pain-in-the-ass little brother.” Dean chuckles, raising his glass to his mouth. “He’s always like this. I tell him that it’s my job to look out for him, but he won’t buy it. Says that he’s a man now, and we don’t have to listen to dad.”

“Your dad? How is he?”

“Oh, he’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Cas really did look apologetic. Might have been his frame, or his resting face. He really needed some muscle mass, Dean decided. He thought it over, and then answered. 

“It’s fine. Not your fault. We didn’t have the best relationship.”

“What? If you don’t mind, of course.”

“Naw, I don’t mind. But if we’re going to get into this I’ll need another scotch.” Dean signaled the waitress. “Hey. I’ll have another drink, and my buddy here, will have one too.” 

“No problem.”

“Thanks.” Dean turned to Cas.”So, Our dad got us in this business.Mom died in a house fire. It was a demon. Azazel. We killed that mother back a while ago. My dad’s last act was to save me. We’re still broken up about it.” The waitress came, and put the drinks in front of the two men. Bowmore aged 25 years for Dean, and Cas got something lighter: Odell’s 90 shilling beer.

They finished their drinks with little small talk, and decided to go back into the hospital.

“I should make up with Sam. We haven’t been close recently. In fact, he hates me. Still mad about not helping Bobby. He’ll probably do something stupid, like run away again.” Dean admitted. 

They drove back, and when Dean and Cas got to Sam’s room, he was missing. They could just see him disappear around the corner.

 

Frances Mahon Deaconess Hospital: Glasgow, Montana

Sam was painfully aware of a light being shined in his eyes. He could almost see the Doctors scrambling around him. 

“Pliers.”

“Lights.”

“We’re losing him, we’re losing him.”

Sam hears the voices becoming farther and farther away, he’s riding through a tunnel, and the voices are by the opposite entrance. He’s aware of a bright light, and his bed is rolling, rolling out of his room. He feels a bump, then he sees another room. This one has more bright lights. He squints, as the lights blind him. 

“Scalpel.” 

“Doctor, we need to remove the bullet. It’s cutting off his blood flow.”

“He’s not stable.”

“Defibrillators, then.”  
“Clear!”

Thud. 

“Clear!”

Thud. 

“Clear!”

Thud. 

“Clear!”

Thud. 

“It’s not working, we’re losing him.”

‘We need to clear the bullet.”

“I told you, not yet”

“Sam!” The cry was pure, calling out through the chaos, right to Sam’s ear. The lights go a little brighter, the noises and shapes became a little bit clearer. Dean shoved his way through the mob, and grabbed Sam. 

“Sir? Sir, you can’t be here. You’ll have to wait outside.” A nurse took Dean’s arm, and pulled him out of the way. Cas followed.

Cas could see how much it hurt Dean, to see his brother in trouble, and not being able to reach him or help him. Den could barely keep himself together. He was wiping tears from his eyes, and pacing, clearly uncomfortable with the current situation. 

The doctors huddled around Sam, spending a good hour in the emergency room. Cas could barely see through what little gap of window Dean wasn’t blocking. Cas could feel the tension in the air.

At noon, Dr. Gaines came out.

“Ok. we’ve done our best-”

“All due respect, doctor, but that’s a load of crap.”

“Yes, anyway, we’ve done our best, and your brother is stable. You can visit him.”

Dean charged in the room. Cas followed, meekly. He didn’t feel comfortable, messing up these two brothers’ lives. 

“Hey, Sammy, don’t leave me. You’ll be fine, listen to me.” Dean ran up, clinging to his hand. “I’ve got you, I’ll-” He broke down. ‘Don’t die, man. I lost Dad, I lost Mom, I don’t wanna lose you. You gotta stay strong.”

Sam’s only answer was arduous breathing. 

Dean listened to him, stuck by him, waited for him, waited for a sign that Sam was alive, or responsive.

The clock struck one  
Two  
Three  
Four  
Five  
Six  
Seven  
Eight  
Nine  
Ten  
Eleven

No sign of life, but the steadily beeping monitor. 

No sign of life, but the the sharp inhale and exhale of breath, as if sandpaper were covering the earth.

“Jerk.”

“Sammy?”

One long breath in. One long breath out.

“Sammy?”

“Yeah, Dean. It’s me.”

Hey, listen to me, listen to my voice. You’ll get through this, you’ll get better.”

 

Sam’s Head: Lawrence, Kansas

“Sam, You’ll have to come with me.” Tessa explained. “Do you want to become the very thing you hunt?”

“No.” Sam was breathless. “No, I don’t. But Dean needs me. I can’t leave.”

“That’s up to you, Sam. You can choose if you live or not. But it takes a huge amount of willpower. Not many can survive it.”

“I don’t care. What do I do?”

Tessa led him deeper in the graveyard.

“Here. You can fight it, but you’ll have to remember, take a trip down memory lane. With the blood flow to your brain weakening, It’ll be hard.”

A bright light reached his eyes. It became blinding, and memories swirled in his head, a small storm compared to the twisters of Kansas. Memories, swirling. From his fights with dad, to Dean yelling at him for sneaking out. His dog, lowered into the ground, and dad selling his soul for Dean. All the fights, and all the harsh words, muttered in anger. “Freak.” “If I didn’t know you, I would want to hunt you” “Bloodsucking freak” “I just don’t believe you” “The Sam I knew is gone. You’re holding me back.” “I might have to kill you.” It’s supposed to be you and me against the world, right? ‘Dean, it is!’ Is it?” “ I just don’t think I can trust you.” 

“Monster”

All the dirty words, the muddy cells, all of them at once. 

Sam was blown back. Their latest fight. “Dean, Be my brother again, ‘cause……. Just ‘cause”  
The last place they were in, the two brothers, anger. 

“I want to go, Tessa.”

“I can’t help you like that, yet. If the doctors, or if Dean saves you, I can’t interfere with that. Only on the brink of death, can I take you.”

“But it’s your job, right? To take people who are dead, who are dying, who see reapers.”

“You’re not dead yet, Sam. I appear to you as a vision, nothing more. I don’t know if you’ll live or die. All I can tell you is that if you leave, I’ll promise you a nice life. You deserve heaven, Sam. You’ve earned it.”

 

In the real world; Frances Mahon Deaconess Hospital: Glasgow, Montana

One long breath in. One long breath out. 

“Listen to me, You’ll get better.” Dean was begging now, helpless in the face of faith. There was nothing he could to save Sam, and Dean knew it. 

“Please don’t die on me. Sammy, all I’m saying is that you’re my weak spot. You really are. I couldn’t stand it if I had to watch you burn too.”

One long breath in. One long breath out.

“Sammy, I know things haven’t been the best between us, and I know I haven’t taught you everything yet, but I want you to know that although we weren’t always brothers, I love you. I need you.”

One long breath in. A pause. One long breath out. 

The breaths were becoming longer, and farther apart.

“You know, I always tried to protect you, even if you were on the other side of the continent. I always tried to protect you. Keep you safe. Dad didn’t even have to tell me. It’s just always been my responsibility, you know? Watch over my pain-in-the-ass little brother. It’s like I had one job, I had one job, and I screwed it up. I blew it, and for that, I’m sorry. I guess that’s what I do. I let down the people I love. Y’know, I let dad down, and now I guess I’m supposed to let you down, too. How can I? How am I supposed to live with that? What am I supposed to do? Sammy? What am I supposed to do?” Dean fell down to the side of the gurney. His legs couldn’t hold him anymore. The tears were a flood gate, letting out every moment he’d ever doubted himself. Ever doubted Sam. Every moment he’d been weak, or it looked like he couldn’t save Sam. Every tear, or cut, or bruise, or even argument. “You can’t go, man,” Dean choked out, “You can’t go. Not now. We were just starting to be brothers again.”

One long breath in. A pause. One long breath out. 

“Sammy, be careful, when you get up from that bed. You don’t wanna sprain your ankle on the floor. It’s pretty waxy. You don’t want another injury to deal with.”

One long breath in. 

“Hey, when you get up, I’ll pay the bills right away, and we can get right back to hunting. It’ll be me, you, and Cas.” Dean laughed without humor. “It’ll be fun. You’ll see. I’ll take care of you, make sure you don’t get shot. Make sure you’re Ok.” It hurt Dean. It was obvious. Sam wasn’t answering, and it hurt Dean. It hurts like Hell, Dean thinks, And I know, because I’ve been.

One long breath out. 

A pause, longer this time. 

One long breath in.

A pause, even longer. 

One long breath out. 

“I deserve something good in my life now, Sam. So talk to me, I’m your brother, just talk to me.”

One long breath in. 

“Remember Sam, when dad would leave us, no warning, and we’d have no money? And I gave you the last of what food we had? I wished you’d give me some food. Or when Dad told me to watch out for you, shoot first and ask questions later? I wished you’d help me. Or when your dog died, and you cried, and I comforted you? I wished you’d man up, and get your mind on the road ahead. All of those wishes came true, some time or later. I wish you’d wake up now.”

One long breath out.

“Bitch.”

The breath in never came. 

 

Sam’s Head: Lawrence, Kansas

“I’ll take you now, Sam”

“Ok.”

 

In the real world; Frances Mahon Deaconess Hospital: Glasgow, Montana

Dean waited for ten minutes, ignoring the incessant beeping of the heart monitor. He didn’t notice when the beeping stopped. He didn’t notice when the doctors ran in. He didn’t notice Cas pull him up and into his arms. He didn’t notice when his fingernail dig into Cas’ arms. He didn’t notice the blood. Dean didn’t notice the screams, nor the rush of medical personnel, nor the screaming of the monitors. He didn’t feel his skin tear as he desperately lunged for Sam, to hold him, to just hold him in his arms, one last time. 

 

Lawrence, Kansas

They burned Sam on a Tuesday, Dean and Cas. Funny, Dean thought. He always hated Tuesdays. The service was short, nothing much to see. Dean and Cas said their last words, and they set Sam on fire, his body floating through the wind. As he drifted away, Cas heard Dean say: 

“Sammy, you were a great brother. I love you. And, I want you to know, I always loved you. We were always brothers, at least in my heart. I only hope you forgave me before you left. But it’s funny, I taught you everything there is to know, and hey, I thought that I was your only source of knowledge, besides that stupid computer. I thought you had nothing to teach me. And that I had everything to teach you. I was wrong. You had one lesson to teach me. How to say goodbye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me when the time we had slipped away  
> Tomorrow turned to yesterday  
> And I don't know how  
> Tell me what can stop this river of tears  
> It's been building up for years  
> For this moment now
> 
> Here I stand  
> Arms open wide  
> I've held ya close  
> Kept ya safe  
> Till you could fly
> 
> Tell me where the road ahead is gonna bend  
> And how to harness up the wind  
> And how to say goodbye
> 
> Tell me why  
> Why does following your dreams  
> Take you far away from me  
> And I knew that it would
> 
> Tell me how to fill the space you left behind  
> And how to laugh instead of cry  
> And how to say goodbye
> 
> Here I stand  
> Arms open wide  
> I've held ya close  
> Kept ya safe  
> Till you could fly
> 
> Tell me where the road ahead is gonna bend  
> And how to harness up the wind  
> And how to say goodbye


	10. It's Been Too Long, Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester is in love with Castiel. He was from the moment he saw Cas in the bar. He loves him, and hunts with him. Cas is like his brother. Dean can't live without him. He knew that Cas was for him. It's a good love, but dangerous. The kind that makes you sweat at night, and go crazy during the day. Dean doesn't know what would become of him if Cas ever died. Dean would be a train wreck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been too long guys. Anyway, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to someone special, someone who I want to have these kind of fond memories with. To Hailee, my girlfriend. See you then.
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When all was new  
> When the only person I looked after  
> Was always you  
> When the road was still open  
> Still wild and free  
> And we’d sprint down it  
> Just you and me
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When we were still young  
> When there were still stories to be made  
> And still songs to be sung  
> When we were still innocent  
> We were kind and naive  
> When I looked out for you  
> And you looked up to me
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> Before the world caved in  
> When the demons we fought  
> Were outside and not within  
> When the sky was still open  
> And we’d watch the stars fall  
> When the wars were someone else’s problem  
> They wouldn’t touch us at all
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When together we were  
> We’d be laughing and cheering  
> All around town we’d be heard  
> But now we’re older  
> It’s just not the same  
> And sometimes it’s hard  
> To say each other’s name
> 
> So take me back to the start  
> Before we saw the blood and the wars  
> When nothing was impossible  
> We only had open doors  
> But now it’s hard to push on  
> The world has shattered our hearts  
> So I’m begging you, please  
> Take me back to the start
> 
> -thelonelydaydreamer (Quotev)

The Graveyard, After Burying Sam; Lawrence, Kansas

Dean couldn't face it. Sam. Dead. It seemed like a foreign word, a strange tongue. An incorrect comparison. Like, ‘Hunting is to hobby as hassling is to job.’ It was wrong. The ground felt like a language Dean hadn’t spoken in years-he found himself on the ground.

Sam’s funeral was sparse: just as he would have wanted it. Purple Heather adorned the platform, and bagpipes played Highland Cathedral and Amazing Grace. The songs were mostly of Bobby’s choosing. Dean had to agree in the end, of course. He was Sam’s brother. 

Cas attened, being the family friend, and Bobby, the surrogate father, came to comfort Dean. Bobby always knew what to say. 

“You were good to us, Sam. Real good. You would always have the latest bit of research to help Dean and me out.” Bobby always knew just what to say, albeit short and to the point. 

The eulogy was done, and Sam floated through the air, dancing among the heather and the sunflowers. The golden grain took him into its golden embrace, and Sam was finally laid to rest. All the trouble, all the turmoil. All the tears and all the pain all the angst. All of it laid to rest. The years spent worrying over survival, and the years spent loving and caring for the other. The years of ‘Yes sir’, and ‘ No sir’. All those long, hard years of obedience. Sam was still serenely floating through the meadow when Dean let loose a single man tear and uttered his words of comfort.

“Sammy, you were a great brother. I love you. And, I want you to know, I always loved you. We were always brothers, at least in my heart. I only hope you forgave me before you left. But it’s funny, I taught you everything there is to know, and hey, I thought that I was your only source of knowledge, besides that stupid computer. I thought you had nothing to teach me. And that I had everything to teach you. I was wrong. You had one lesson to teach me. How to say goodbye.”

 

Singer Auto: Sioux Falls, South Dakota  
Three Days After Sam’s Ceremony

If Dean had one wish, just one, no repercussions, He would not wish to have his brother back. No, he would wish that he was on a good slate with Sam. It still hurt to see him, just out of the corner of your eye, or standing by the door, or even laughing in the sun. Dean would imagine that he was there, anywhere really, even in the reflection of his glass. 

He saw Sam a lot in his glass. Drinking was really the only escape. Not hunting. Not sleeping, not anything. He quit hunting when Sam died. No point. Cas wasn’t physically fit enough, and his aim was horrible. He couldn't hit the broadside of a barn with a shotgun from fifty feet away. A bit of an exaggeration, Dean thought, but not that big. It was more like forty-five feet away. 

Cas was a good friend to Dean in the following months. He helped him get over it, or at least scratch the surface. Dean didn’t deal with it very well to start out. He was moping around Bobby’s place for a good while before he accepted that Sam wasn’t coming back. In the beginning, he would walk around listlessly, meandering from the salvage yard to the bedroom and back again. Dean spent a lot of time in the salvage yard. He would sleep out there, looking up at the stars. It was Sam’s favorite thing to do. 

Dean would spend hours at a time out there, either fixing up the Impala (not like it needed any work) or salvaging parts to build useless contraptions. He’d always take these apart to build new ones. When that wasn’t enough, Dean would walk outside with a crowbar, and beat up the Impala. He’d put it back together, later.

It was on one of these days that Bobby wandered out. 

“Hey boy, Whatcha doing?”

Dean was breathless, leaning over the Impala, her black side perfect amongst the dirt and dust. “Not much. Just taking a walk.”

“Yeah, right. I know what you’re up to. It’s Sam, isn’t it? You need to get your head on straight.”

“Bobby-”

“Shut up! I’ve had enough of this ‘It’s not Sam’ crap. Man up, boy! Get some sense behind that pie-hole.”

“I still feel him, Bobby. I still see him. He’s there, in the reflection of the windshield, or here, in the shadows of the car stacks. I can’t stop seeing him.”

“Come on in and have a beer.”

Bobby. Always the sensible one, Dean thinks as he steps inside the house, his eyes adjusting slowly to the considerable darker inside. He grabs a beer, and pulls up a chair, falling into his chair rather than sitting. His legs are tired, and he’s tired. Too tired. He doesn’t want to move. It’s too much work, and his heart is just a little bit too heavy. Maybe his soul is a little bit too heavy. Whatever the problem, Dean is too weak. Useless. 

The beer is cold, exquisite, with the carbonation offering a sweet contrast to the bitter flavour of alcohol. It easily slips down Dean's throat with a warmness that only beer can bring. It feels good. The only comforting thing Dean has know since Sam passed. It was already addicting, and before Dean knew it, he was reaching for another one. The hours passed, Bobby staying for only a few of them. Small talk reigned supreme within these fleeting hours and before Dean knew it, he had finished up his first six pack. 

Two hours later (It felt like thirty minutes) another half six pack was down and so was Dean. Barely conscious on the floor, Dean was sprawled on the floor with limbs sleeping at his sides. He was in the most uncomfortable position, yet felt more comfortable than he had ever felt in weeks. In his drunken state, Dean is slowly falling through the cracks in reality, not caring that he’s waste. Why should he? He’s fine, right here. He doesn’t care about anything. About Bobby, or Sam, or Cas, or even Baby. He doesn’t care if he wakes up from this mess. 

 

May Second, 1983: Lawrence, Kansas

 

Dean can see a hairless lump of disgustingness. Mommy tells him that it’s his brother and he shouldn’t yell at it so much, but Daddy isn’t here, and anyways mommy can’t make him do stuff like daddy can. Mommy says his name is ‘Sam’ but Dean can’t pronounce that yet. He settles for ‘Stham’. The letter ‘s’ is hard, and mommy doesn’t mind. Dean still thinks that they should throw away Sam. If they don’t then how’s Dean supposed to get all the attention. It’s hard to be an older brother. 

When mommy takes Sam home (Daddy isn’t back yet. They had a F-I-G-H-T) She doesn’t want to talk to Dean. I’m tired, she says. Dean doesn’t think she looks tired. He wants attention now. 

“Mommy! Whe’e stham!”

“Not now, Deanie. I’m tired. How about you go play with your cars?”

“No! I wan’ Stham! I don’ wanna play cars! I wan’ stham!” Four year old Dean’s voice reached a level not known to human ears. 

“Oh, ok, sweetie. But be gentle. He’s a baby. He’s younger than you. Don’t drop him.” Mary bent down and wagged her finger, mostly in jest, at Dean. She went out to her bedroom, and just as she hands four year old Dean the baby, he is whisked along. 

 

November Second, 1983: Lawrence Kansas

 

Dean wakes up as a cry pierces the air. It’s his mom. Adult Dean can tell. He may have been almost five, but he can remember this night. Cue John Winchester running up the stairs. Cue Mary Winchester bursting up in flames. Cue the house burning down. And cue John bursting in to wake up almost five year old Dean. 

“Take your brother. Run. don’t look back.” 

Almost five year old Dean does just that. Who’s stupid enough to cross daddy? He runs out of the house and over to his dad’s car, trying not to get a scratch or anything on it. Dad would kill him. So he sits on the hood with Sam in his arms and waits in the early morning air to see his dad run out with his mom. A fireball explodes in Sam’s room and John runs out. Almost five years old Dean asks about it, only to receive a “It’s not your business.” John shoves him away and starts to cry. 

“Boys? Daddy is going to have to leave soon, to see his friends. You can’t come. Do you want to go to Ms. Missouri’s house?”

A resounding chorus of “Yes! Yes!” sprang from the boy’s mouths. 

The memory fades and Dean finds himself on the road again.

1987, Ms. Missouri's House: Lawrence, Kansas

“Hey boys, I’m home!” John Winchester walked in the door of Ms. Missouri’s house years after he left them. The house was quiet, but no surprise to John, as Missouri might have taken them out for ice cream. After all, the afternoon was tired on the horizon, and the sun was setting.

“Hello?” John checked one more time. No response. He walked around to see what they had been up to for almost four years now. Toys of all shapes and sizes lay around the living room, and the mess was atrocious. Discarded coffee mugs lay everywhere and sippy cups were in abundance. Books lay strewn across the floor, couch, everywhere really. It’s nice to see them reading, John thought. 

Plates were out on the dining room table, but no date to their use was apparent, nor were their possible reuse. Juice stains and food splatters adorned the wall as if they were auditioning to be the new wallpaper. John had a lot of work to do. 

Four hours later

John had almost finished; the last of the plates were washed, the coffee mugs were neatly lined up, books were where they belonged, and the sippy cups and stain were all cleaned up. Ms. Missouri walked in the door with two of the most unruly boys ever and John was immediately tackled.

“Hey, Sam, Dean!”

“Daddy! Daddy! We missed you!”

“Hey boys, It’s good to be back. How did Ms. Missouri treat you?”  
“Oh, I was fine to them.” Missouri stood in the doorway, tired. It had been a long year and taking care of two toddlers wasn’t exactly the easiest thing ever. “The house looks good. Thanks for clearing it.”

“No problem. It was the least I could do. Thank you again for taking care of them for all that time.”  
John turned towards Sam and Dean to elicit a drawn out, customary ‘Thank you’, but they had long since lost interest and were currently making the dining room into the easily recognizable mess it had been before. “Hey! Stop that!”

‘Don’t worry.”

The last words are already faded when Dean finds himself whisked along to another easily recognizable night. 

Sam’s Dorm

Sam awoke to a clanging noise. Pans in the kitchen. Sam got up and picked up the bat as he crept around the apartment walls, ever careful of what the next turn may bring. More noise came from the kitchen. Sam lunged toward it, bat in hand, ready to strike, but the intruder got there first. In a short struggle, the mysterious man ended up on top. 

“Sam?”

“Dean?”

“Hey brother, long time no see!” 

And with that they commenced the usual camaraderie of two soldiers who had walked through Hell and back with each other.  
The short greeting ended as Sam walked out the back door of his dorm, kissed Jess on the cheek, and never saw her again.


	11. It's Been Too Long, Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester is in love with Castiel. He was from the moment he saw Cas in the bar. He loves him, and hunts with him. Cas is like his brother. Dean can't live without him. He knew that Cas was for him. It's a good love, but dangerous. The kind that makes you sweat at night, and go crazy during the day. Dean doesn't know what would become of him if Cas ever died. Dean would be a train wreck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been too long guys. Anyway, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to someone special, someone who I want to have these kind of fond memories with. To Hailee, my girlfriend. See you then.
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When all was new  
> When the only person I looked after  
> Was always you  
> When the road was still open  
> Still wild and free  
> And we’d sprint down it  
> Just you and me
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When we were still young  
> When there were still stories to be made  
> And still songs to be sung  
> When we were still innocent  
> We were kind and naive  
> When I looked out for you  
> And you looked up to me
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> Before the world caved in  
> When the demons we fought  
> Were outside and not within  
> When the sky was still open  
> And we’d watch the stars fall  
> When the wars were someone else’s problem  
> They wouldn’t touch us at all
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When together we were  
> We’d be laughing and cheering  
> All around town we’d be heard  
> But now we’re older  
> It’s just not the same  
> And sometimes it’s hard  
> To say each other’s name
> 
> So take me back to the start  
> Before we saw the blood and the wars  
> When nothing was impossible  
> We only had open doors  
> But now it’s hard to push on  
> The world has shattered our hearts  
> So I’m begging you, please  
> Take me back to the start
> 
> -thelonelydaydreamer (Quotev)

The Graveyard, After Burying Sam; Lawrence, Kansas

Dean couldn't face it. Sam. Dead. It seemed like a foreign word, a strange tongue. An incorrect comparison. Like, ‘Hunting is to hobby as hassling is to job.’ It was wrong. The ground felt like a language Dean hadn’t spoken in years-he found himself on the ground.

Sam’s funeral was sparse: just as he would have wanted it. Purple Heather adorned the platform, and bagpipes played Highland Cathedral and Amazing Grace. The songs were mostly of Bobby’s choosing. Dean had to agree in the end, of course. He was Sam’s brother. 

Cas attened, being the family friend, and Bobby, the surrogate father, came to comfort Dean. Bobby always knew what to say. 

“You were good to us, Sam. Real good. You would always have the latest bit of research to help Dean and me out.” Bobby always knew just what to say, albeit short and to the point. 

The eulogy was done, and Sam floated through the air, dancing among the heather and the sunflowers. The golden grain took him into its golden embrace, and Sam was finally laid to rest. All the trouble, all the turmoil. All the tears and all the pain all the angst. All of it laid to rest. The years spent worrying over survival, and the years spent loving and caring for the other. The years of ‘Yes sir’, and ‘ No sir’. All those long, hard years of obedience. Sam was still serenely floating through the meadow when Dean let loose a single man tear and uttered his words of comfort.

“Sammy, you were a great brother. I love you. And, I want you to know, I always loved you. We were always brothers, at least in my heart. I only hope you forgave me before you left. But it’s funny, I taught you everything there is to know, and hey, I thought that I was your only source of knowledge, besides that stupid computer. I thought you had nothing to teach me. And that I had everything to teach you. I was wrong. You had one lesson to teach me. How to say goodbye.”

 

Singer Auto: Sioux Falls, South Dakota  
Three Days After Sam’s Ceremony

If Dean had one wish, just one, no repercussions, He would not wish to have his brother back. No, he would wish that he was on a good slate with Sam. It still hurt to see him, just out of the corner of your eye, or standing by the door, or even laughing in the sun. Dean would imagine that he was there, anywhere really, even in the reflection of his glass. 

He saw Sam a lot in his glass. Drinking was really the only escape. Not hunting. Not sleeping, not anything. He quit hunting when Sam died. No point. Cas wasn’t physically fit enough, and his aim was horrible. He couldn't hit the broadside of a barn with a shotgun from fifty feet away. A bit of an exaggeration, Dean thought, but not that big. It was more like forty-five feet away. 

Cas was a good friend to Dean in the following months. He helped him get over it, or at least scratch the surface. Dean didn’t deal with it very well to start out. He was moping around Bobby’s place for a good while before he accepted that Sam wasn’t coming back. In the beginning, he would walk around listlessly, meandering from the salvage yard to the bedroom and back again. Dean spent a lot of time in the salvage yard. He would sleep out there, looking up at the stars. It was Sam’s favorite thing to do. 

Dean would spend hours at a time out there, either fixing up the Impala (not like it needed any work) or salvaging parts to build useless contraptions. He’d always take these apart to build new ones. When that wasn’t enough, Dean would walk outside with a crowbar, and beat up the Impala. He’d put it back together, later.

It was on one of these days that Bobby wandered out. 

“Hey boy, Whatcha doing?”

Dean was breathless, leaning over the Impala, her black side perfect amongst the dirt and dust. “Not much. Just taking a walk.”

“Yeah, right. I know what you’re up to. It’s Sam, isn’t it? You need to get your head on straight.”

“Bobby-”

“Shut up! I’ve had enough of this ‘It’s not Sam’ crap. Man up, boy! Get some sense behind that pie-hole.”

“I still feel him, Bobby. I still see him. He’s there, in the reflection of the windshield, or here, in the shadows of the car stacks. I can’t stop seeing him.”

“Come on in and have a beer.”

Bobby. Always the sensible one, Dean thinks as he steps inside the house, his eyes adjusting slowly to the considerable darker inside. He grabs a beer, and pulls up a chair, falling into his chair rather than sitting. His legs are tired, and he’s tired. Too tired. He doesn’t want to move. It’s too much work, and his heart is just a little bit too heavy. Maybe his soul is a little bit too heavy. Whatever the problem, Dean is too weak. Useless. 

The beer is cold, exquisite, with the carbonation offering a sweet contrast to the bitter flavour of alcohol. It easily slips down Dean's throat with a warmness that only beer can bring. It feels good. The only comforting thing Dean has know since Sam passed. It was already addicting, and before Dean knew it, he was reaching for another one. The hours passed, Bobby staying for only a few of them. Small talk reigned supreme within these fleeting hours and before Dean knew it, he had finished up his first six pack. 

Two hours later (It felt like thirty minutes) another half six pack was down and so was Dean. Barely conscious on the floor, Dean was sprawled on the floor with limbs sleeping at his sides. He was in the most uncomfortable position, yet felt more comfortable than he had ever felt in weeks. In his drunken state, Dean is slowly falling through the cracks in reality, not caring that he’s waste. Why should he? He’s fine, right here. He doesn’t care about anything. About Bobby, or Sam, or Cas, or even Baby. He doesn’t care if he wakes up from this mess. 

 

May Second, 1983: Lawrence, Kansas

 

Dean can see a hairless lump of disgustingness. Mommy tells him that it’s his brother and he shouldn’t yell at it so much, but Daddy isn’t here, and anyways mommy can’t make him do stuff like daddy can. Mommy says his name is ‘Sam’ but Dean can’t pronounce that yet. He settles for ‘Stham’. The letter ‘s’ is hard, and mommy doesn’t mind. Dean still thinks that they should throw away Sam. If they don’t then how’s Dean supposed to get all the attention. It’s hard to be an older brother. 

When mommy takes Sam home (Daddy isn’t back yet. They had a F-I-G-H-T) She doesn’t want to talk to Dean. I’m tired, she says. Dean doesn’t think she looks tired. He wants attention now. 

“Mommy! Whe’e stham!”

“Not now, Deanie. I’m tired. How about you go play with your cars?”

“No! I wan’ Stham! I don’ wanna play cars! I wan’ stham!” Four year old Dean’s voice reached a level not known to human ears. 

“Oh, ok, sweetie. But be gentle. He’s a baby. He’s younger than you. Don’t drop him.” Mary bent down and wagged her finger, mostly in jest, at Dean. She went out to her bedroom, and just as she hands four year old Dean the baby, he is whisked along. 

 

November Second, 1983: Lawrence Kansas

 

Dean wakes up as a cry pierces the air. It’s his mom. Adult Dean can tell. He may have been almost five, but he can remember this night. Cue John Winchester running up the stairs. Cue Mary Winchester bursting up in flames. Cue the house burning down. And cue John bursting in to wake up almost five year old Dean. 

“Take your brother. Run. don’t look back.” 

Almost five year old Dean does just that. Who’s stupid enough to cross daddy? He runs out of the house and over to his dad’s car, trying not to get a scratch or anything on it. Dad would kill him. So he sits on the hood with Sam in his arms and waits in the early morning air to see his dad run out with his mom. A fireball explodes in Sam’s room and John runs out. Almost five years old Dean asks about it, only to receive a “It’s not your business.” John shoves him away and starts to cry. 

“Boys? Daddy is going to have to leave soon, to see his friends. You can’t come. Do you want to go to Ms. Missouri’s house?”

A resounding chorus of “Yes! Yes!” sprang from the boy’s mouths. 

The memory fades and Dean finds himself on the road again.

1987, Ms. Missouri's House: Lawrence, Kansas

“Hey boys, I’m home!” John Winchester walked in the door of Ms. Missouri’s house years after he left them. The house was quiet, but no surprise to John, as Missouri might have taken them out for ice cream. After all, the afternoon was tired on the horizon, and the sun was setting.

“Hello?” John checked one more time. No response. He walked around to see what they had been up to for almost four years now. Toys of all shapes and sizes lay around the living room, and the mess was atrocious. Discarded coffee mugs lay everywhere and sippy cups were in abundance. Books lay strewn across the floor, couch, everywhere really. It’s nice to see them reading, John thought. 

Plates were out on the dining room table, but no date to their use was apparent, nor were their possible reuse. Juice stains and food splatters adorned the wall as if they were auditioning to be the new wallpaper. John had a lot of work to do. 

Four hours later

John had almost finished; the last of the plates were washed, the coffee mugs were neatly lined up, books were where they belonged, and the sippy cups and stain were all cleaned up. Ms. Missouri walked in the door with two of the most unruly boys ever and John was immediately tackled.

“Hey, Sam, Dean!”

“Daddy! Daddy! We missed you!”

“Hey boys, It’s good to be back. How did Ms. Missouri treat you?”  
“Oh, I was fine to them.” Missouri stood in the doorway, tired. It had been a long year and taking care of two toddlers wasn’t exactly the easiest thing ever. “The house looks good. Thanks for clearing it.”

“No problem. It was the least I could do. Thank you again for taking care of them for all that time.”  
John turned towards Sam and Dean to elicit a drawn out, customary ‘Thank you’, but they had long since lost interest and were currently making the dining room into the easily recognizable mess it had been before. “Hey! Stop that!”

‘Don’t worry.”

The last words are already faded when Dean finds himself whisked along to another easily recognizable night. 

Sam’s Dorm

Sam awoke to a clanging noise. Pans in the kitchen. Sam got up and picked up the bat as he crept around the apartment walls, ever careful of what the next turn may bring. More noise came from the kitchen. Sam lunged toward it, bat in hand, ready to strike, but the intruder got there first. In a short struggle, the mysterious man ended up on top. 

“Sam?”

“Dean?”

“Hey brother, long time no see!” 

And with that they commenced the usual camaraderie of two soldiers who had walked through Hell and back with each other.  
The short greeting ended as Sam walked out the back door of his dorm, kissed Jess on the cheek, and never saw her again.


	12. It's Been Too Long, Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester is in love with Castiel. He was from the moment he saw Cas in the bar. He loves him, and hunts with him. Cas is like his brother. Dean can't live without him. He knew that Cas was for him. It's a good love, but dangerous. The kind that makes you sweat at night, and go crazy during the day. Dean doesn't know what would become of him if Cas ever died. Dean would be a train wreck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been too long guys. Anyway, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to someone special, someone who I want to have these kind of fond memories with. To Hailee, my girlfriend. See you then.
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When all was new  
> When the only person I looked after  
> Was always you  
> When the road was still open  
> Still wild and free  
> And we’d sprint down it  
> Just you and me
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When we were still young  
> When there were still stories to be made  
> And still songs to be sung  
> When we were still innocent  
> We were kind and naive  
> When I looked out for you  
> And you looked up to me
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> Before the world caved in  
> When the demons we fought  
> Were outside and not within  
> When the sky was still open  
> And we’d watch the stars fall  
> When the wars were someone else’s problem  
> They wouldn’t touch us at all
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When together we were  
> We’d be laughing and cheering  
> All around town we’d be heard  
> But now we’re older  
> It’s just not the same  
> And sometimes it’s hard  
> To say each other’s name
> 
> So take me back to the start  
> Before we saw the blood and the wars  
> When nothing was impossible  
> We only had open doors  
> But now it’s hard to push on  
> The world has shattered our hearts  
> So I’m begging you, please  
> Take me back to the start
> 
> -thelonelydaydreamer (Quotev)

The Graveyard, After Burying Sam; Lawrence, Kansas

Dean couldn't face it. Sam. Dead. It seemed like a foreign word, a strange tongue. An incorrect comparison. Like, ‘Hunting is to hobby as hassling is to job.’ It was wrong. The ground felt like a language Dean hadn’t spoken in years-he found himself on the ground.

Sam’s funeral was sparse: just as he would have wanted it. Purple Heather adorned the platform, and bagpipes played Highland Cathedral and Amazing Grace. The songs were mostly of Bobby’s choosing. Dean had to agree in the end, of course. He was Sam’s brother. 

Cas attened, being the family friend, and Bobby, the surrogate father, came to comfort Dean. Bobby always knew what to say. 

“You were good to us, Sam. Real good. You would always have the latest bit of research to help Dean and me out.” Bobby always knew just what to say, albeit short and to the point. 

The eulogy was done, and Sam floated through the air, dancing among the heather and the sunflowers. The golden grain took him into its golden embrace, and Sam was finally laid to rest. All the trouble, all the turmoil. All the tears and all the pain all the angst. All of it laid to rest. The years spent worrying over survival, and the years spent loving and caring for the other. The years of ‘Yes sir’, and ‘ No sir’. All those long, hard years of obedience. Sam was still serenely floating through the meadow when Dean let loose a single man tear and uttered his words of comfort.

“Sammy, you were a great brother. I love you. And, I want you to know, I always loved you. We were always brothers, at least in my heart. I only hope you forgave me before you left. But it’s funny, I taught you everything there is to know, and hey, I thought that I was your only source of knowledge, besides that stupid computer. I thought you had nothing to teach me. And that I had everything to teach you. I was wrong. You had one lesson to teach me. How to say goodbye.”

 

Singer Auto: Sioux Falls, South Dakota  
Three Days After Sam’s Ceremony

If Dean had one wish, just one, no repercussions, He would not wish to have his brother back. No, he would wish that he was on a good slate with Sam. It still hurt to see him, just out of the corner of your eye, or standing by the door, or even laughing in the sun. Dean would imagine that he was there, anywhere really, even in the reflection of his glass. 

He saw Sam a lot in his glass. Drinking was really the only escape. Not hunting. Not sleeping, not anything. He quit hunting when Sam died. No point. Cas wasn’t physically fit enough, and his aim was horrible. He couldn't hit the broadside of a barn with a shotgun from fifty feet away. A bit of an exaggeration, Dean thought, but not that big. It was more like forty-five feet away. 

Cas was a good friend to Dean in the following months. He helped him get over it, or at least scratch the surface. Dean didn’t deal with it very well to start out. He was moping around Bobby’s place for a good while before he accepted that Sam wasn’t coming back. In the beginning, he would walk around listlessly, meandering from the salvage yard to the bedroom and back again. Dean spent a lot of time in the salvage yard. He would sleep out there, looking up at the stars. It was Sam’s favorite thing to do. 

Dean would spend hours at a time out there, either fixing up the Impala (not like it needed any work) or salvaging parts to build useless contraptions. He’d always take these apart to build new ones. When that wasn’t enough, Dean would walk outside with a crowbar, and beat up the Impala. He’d put it back together, later.

It was on one of these days that Bobby wandered out. 

“Hey boy, Whatcha doing?”

Dean was breathless, leaning over the Impala, her black side perfect amongst the dirt and dust. “Not much. Just taking a walk.”

“Yeah, right. I know what you’re up to. It’s Sam, isn’t it? You need to get your head on straight.”

“Bobby-”

“Shut up! I’ve had enough of this ‘It’s not Sam’ crap. Man up, boy! Get some sense behind that pie-hole.”

“I still feel him, Bobby. I still see him. He’s there, in the reflection of the windshield, or here, in the shadows of the car stacks. I can’t stop seeing him.”

“Come on in and have a beer.”

Bobby. Always the sensible one, Dean thinks as he steps inside the house, his eyes adjusting slowly to the considerable darker inside. He grabs a beer, and pulls up a chair, falling into his chair rather than sitting. His legs are tired, and he’s tired. Too tired. He doesn’t want to move. It’s too much work, and his heart is just a little bit too heavy. Maybe his soul is a little bit too heavy. Whatever the problem, Dean is too weak. Useless. 

The beer is cold, exquisite, with the carbonation offering a sweet contrast to the bitter flavour of alcohol. It easily slips down Dean's throat with a warmness that only beer can bring. It feels good. The only comforting thing Dean has know since Sam passed. It was already addicting, and before Dean knew it, he was reaching for another one. The hours passed, Bobby staying for only a few of them. Small talk reigned supreme within these fleeting hours and before Dean knew it, he had finished up his first six pack. 

Two hours later (It felt like thirty minutes) another half six pack was down and so was Dean. Barely conscious on the floor, Dean was sprawled on the floor with limbs sleeping at his sides. He was in the most uncomfortable position, yet felt more comfortable than he had ever felt in weeks. In his drunken state, Dean is slowly falling through the cracks in reality, not caring that he’s waste. Why should he? He’s fine, right here. He doesn’t care about anything. About Bobby, or Sam, or Cas, or even Baby. He doesn’t care if he wakes up from this mess. 

 

May Second, 1983: Lawrence, Kansas

 

Dean can see a hairless lump of disgustingness. Mommy tells him that it’s his brother and he shouldn’t yell at it so much, but Daddy isn’t here, and anyways mommy can’t make him do stuff like daddy can. Mommy says his name is ‘Sam’ but Dean can’t pronounce that yet. He settles for ‘Stham’. The letter ‘s’ is hard, and mommy doesn’t mind. Dean still thinks that they should throw away Sam. If they don’t then how’s Dean supposed to get all the attention. It’s hard to be an older brother. 

When mommy takes Sam home (Daddy isn’t back yet. They had a F-I-G-H-T) She doesn’t want to talk to Dean. I’m tired, she says. Dean doesn’t think she looks tired. He wants attention now. 

“Mommy! Whe’e stham!”

“Not now, Deanie. I’m tired. How about you go play with your cars?”

“No! I wan’ Stham! I don’ wanna play cars! I wan’ stham!” Four year old Dean’s voice reached a level not known to human ears. 

“Oh, ok, sweetie. But be gentle. He’s a baby. He’s younger than you. Don’t drop him.” Mary bent down and wagged her finger, mostly in jest, at Dean. She went out to her bedroom, and just as she hands four year old Dean the baby, he is whisked along. 

 

November Second, 1983: Lawrence Kansas

 

Dean wakes up as a cry pierces the air. It’s his mom. Adult Dean can tell. He may have been almost five, but he can remember this night. Cue John Winchester running up the stairs. Cue Mary Winchester bursting up in flames. Cue the house burning down. And cue John bursting in to wake up almost five year old Dean. 

“Take your brother. Run. don’t look back.” 

Almost five year old Dean does just that. Who’s stupid enough to cross daddy? He runs out of the house and over to his dad’s car, trying not to get a scratch or anything on it. Dad would kill him. So he sits on the hood with Sam in his arms and waits in the early morning air to see his dad run out with his mom. A fireball explodes in Sam’s room and John runs out. Almost five years old Dean asks about it, only to receive a “It’s not your business.” John shoves him away and starts to cry. 

“Boys? Daddy is going to have to leave soon, to see his friends. You can’t come. Do you want to go to Ms. Missouri’s house?”

A resounding chorus of “Yes! Yes!” sprang from the boy’s mouths. 

The memory fades and Dean finds himself on the road again.

1987, Ms. Missouri's House: Lawrence, Kansas

“Hey boys, I’m home!” John Winchester walked in the door of Ms. Missouri’s house years after he left them. The house was quiet, but no surprise to John, as Missouri might have taken them out for ice cream. After all, the afternoon was tired on the horizon, and the sun was setting.

“Hello?” John checked one more time. No response. He walked around to see what they had been up to for almost four years now. Toys of all shapes and sizes lay around the living room, and the mess was atrocious. Discarded coffee mugs lay everywhere and sippy cups were in abundance. Books lay strewn across the floor, couch, everywhere really. It’s nice to see them reading, John thought. 

Plates were out on the dining room table, but no date to their use was apparent, nor were their possible reuse. Juice stains and food splatters adorned the wall as if they were auditioning to be the new wallpaper. John had a lot of work to do. 

Four hours later

John had almost finished; the last of the plates were washed, the coffee mugs were neatly lined up, books were where they belonged, and the sippy cups and stain were all cleaned up. Ms. Missouri walked in the door with two of the most unruly boys ever and John was immediately tackled.

“Hey, Sam, Dean!”

“Daddy! Daddy! We missed you!”

“Hey boys, It’s good to be back. How did Ms. Missouri treat you?”  
“Oh, I was fine to them.” Missouri stood in the doorway, tired. It had been a long year and taking care of two toddlers wasn’t exactly the easiest thing ever. “The house looks good. Thanks for clearing it.”

“No problem. It was the least I could do. Thank you again for taking care of them for all that time.”  
John turned towards Sam and Dean to elicit a drawn out, customary ‘Thank you’, but they had long since lost interest and were currently making the dining room into the easily recognizable mess it had been before. “Hey! Stop that!”

‘Don’t worry.”

The last words are already faded when Dean finds himself whisked along to another easily recognizable night. 

Sam’s Dorm

Sam awoke to a clanging noise. Pans in the kitchen. Sam got up and picked up the bat as he crept around the apartment walls, ever careful of what the next turn may bring. More noise came from the kitchen. Sam lunged toward it, bat in hand, ready to strike, but the intruder got there first. In a short struggle, the mysterious man ended up on top. 

“Sam?”

“Dean?”

“Hey brother, long time no see!” 

And with that they commenced the usual camaraderie of two soldiers who had walked through Hell and back with each other.  
The short greeting ended as Sam walked out the back door of his dorm, kissed Jess on the cheek, and never saw her again.


	13. It's Been Too Long, Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester is in love with Castiel. He was from the moment he saw Cas in the bar. He loves him, and hunts with him. Cas is like his brother. Dean can't live without him. He knew that Cas was for him. It's a good love, but dangerous. The kind that makes you sweat at night, and go crazy during the day. Dean doesn't know what would become of him if Cas ever died. Dean would be a train wreck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been too long guys. Anyway, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to someone special, someone who I want to have these kind of fond memories with. To Hailee, my girlfriend. See you then.
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When all was new  
> When the only person I looked after  
> Was always you  
> When the road was still open  
> Still wild and free  
> And we’d sprint down it  
> Just you and me
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When we were still young  
> When there were still stories to be made  
> And still songs to be sung  
> When we were still innocent  
> We were kind and naive  
> When I looked out for you  
> And you looked up to me
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> Before the world caved in  
> When the demons we fought  
> Were outside and not within  
> When the sky was still open  
> And we’d watch the stars fall  
> When the wars were someone else’s problem  
> They wouldn’t touch us at all
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When together we were  
> We’d be laughing and cheering  
> All around town we’d be heard  
> But now we’re older  
> It’s just not the same  
> And sometimes it’s hard  
> To say each other’s name
> 
> So take me back to the start  
> Before we saw the blood and the wars  
> When nothing was impossible  
> We only had open doors  
> But now it’s hard to push on  
> The world has shattered our hearts  
> So I’m begging you, please  
> Take me back to the start
> 
> -thelonelydaydreamer (Quotev)

The Graveyard, After Burying Sam; Lawrence, Kansas

Dean couldn't face it. Sam. Dead. It seemed like a foreign word, a strange tongue. An incorrect comparison. Like, ‘Hunting is to hobby as hassling is to job.’ It was wrong. The ground felt like a language Dean hadn’t spoken in years-he found himself on the ground.

Sam’s funeral was sparse: just as he would have wanted it. Purple Heather adorned the platform, and bagpipes played Highland Cathedral and Amazing Grace. The songs were mostly of Bobby’s choosing. Dean had to agree in the end, of course. He was Sam’s brother. 

Cas attened, being the family friend, and Bobby, the surrogate father, came to comfort Dean. Bobby always knew what to say. 

“You were good to us, Sam. Real good. You would always have the latest bit of research to help Dean and me out.” Bobby always knew just what to say, albeit short and to the point. 

The eulogy was done, and Sam floated through the air, dancing among the heather and the sunflowers. The golden grain took him into its golden embrace, and Sam was finally laid to rest. All the trouble, all the turmoil. All the tears and all the pain all the angst. All of it laid to rest. The years spent worrying over survival, and the years spent loving and caring for the other. The years of ‘Yes sir’, and ‘ No sir’. All those long, hard years of obedience. Sam was still serenely floating through the meadow when Dean let loose a single man tear and uttered his words of comfort.

“Sammy, you were a great brother. I love you. And, I want you to know, I always loved you. We were always brothers, at least in my heart. I only hope you forgave me before you left. But it’s funny, I taught you everything there is to know, and hey, I thought that I was your only source of knowledge, besides that stupid computer. I thought you had nothing to teach me. And that I had everything to teach you. I was wrong. You had one lesson to teach me. How to say goodbye.”

 

Singer Auto: Sioux Falls, South Dakota  
Three Days After Sam’s Ceremony

If Dean had one wish, just one, no repercussions, He would not wish to have his brother back. No, he would wish that he was on a good slate with Sam. It still hurt to see him, just out of the corner of your eye, or standing by the door, or even laughing in the sun. Dean would imagine that he was there, anywhere really, even in the reflection of his glass. 

He saw Sam a lot in his glass. Drinking was really the only escape. Not hunting. Not sleeping, not anything. He quit hunting when Sam died. No point. Cas wasn’t physically fit enough, and his aim was horrible. He couldn't hit the broadside of a barn with a shotgun from fifty feet away. A bit of an exaggeration, Dean thought, but not that big. It was more like forty-five feet away. 

Cas was a good friend to Dean in the following months. He helped him get over it, or at least scratch the surface. Dean didn’t deal with it very well to start out. He was moping around Bobby’s place for a good while before he accepted that Sam wasn’t coming back. In the beginning, he would walk around listlessly, meandering from the salvage yard to the bedroom and back again. Dean spent a lot of time in the salvage yard. He would sleep out there, looking up at the stars. It was Sam’s favorite thing to do. 

Dean would spend hours at a time out there, either fixing up the Impala (not like it needed any work) or salvaging parts to build useless contraptions. He’d always take these apart to build new ones. When that wasn’t enough, Dean would walk outside with a crowbar, and beat up the Impala. He’d put it back together, later.

It was on one of these days that Bobby wandered out. 

“Hey boy, Whatcha doing?”

Dean was breathless, leaning over the Impala, her black side perfect amongst the dirt and dust. “Not much. Just taking a walk.”

“Yeah, right. I know what you’re up to. It’s Sam, isn’t it? You need to get your head on straight.”

“Bobby-”

“Shut up! I’ve had enough of this ‘It’s not Sam’ crap. Man up, boy! Get some sense behind that pie-hole.”

“I still feel him, Bobby. I still see him. He’s there, in the reflection of the windshield, or here, in the shadows of the car stacks. I can’t stop seeing him.”

“Come on in and have a beer.”

Bobby. Always the sensible one, Dean thinks as he steps inside the house, his eyes adjusting slowly to the considerable darker inside. He grabs a beer, and pulls up a chair, falling into his chair rather than sitting. His legs are tired, and he’s tired. Too tired. He doesn’t want to move. It’s too much work, and his heart is just a little bit too heavy. Maybe his soul is a little bit too heavy. Whatever the problem, Dean is too weak. Useless. 

The beer is cold, exquisite, with the carbonation offering a sweet contrast to the bitter flavour of alcohol. It easily slips down Dean's throat with a warmness that only beer can bring. It feels good. The only comforting thing Dean has know since Sam passed. It was already addicting, and before Dean knew it, he was reaching for another one. The hours passed, Bobby staying for only a few of them. Small talk reigned supreme within these fleeting hours and before Dean knew it, he had finished up his first six pack. 

Two hours later (It felt like thirty minutes) another half six pack was down and so was Dean. Barely conscious on the floor, Dean was sprawled on the floor with limbs sleeping at his sides. He was in the most uncomfortable position, yet felt more comfortable than he had ever felt in weeks. In his drunken state, Dean is slowly falling through the cracks in reality, not caring that he’s waste. Why should he? He’s fine, right here. He doesn’t care about anything. About Bobby, or Sam, or Cas, or even Baby. He doesn’t care if he wakes up from this mess. 

 

May Second, 1983: Lawrence, Kansas

 

Dean can see a hairless lump of disgustingness. Mommy tells him that it’s his brother and he shouldn’t yell at it so much, but Daddy isn’t here, and anyways mommy can’t make him do stuff like daddy can. Mommy says his name is ‘Sam’ but Dean can’t pronounce that yet. He settles for ‘Stham’. The letter ‘s’ is hard, and mommy doesn’t mind. Dean still thinks that they should throw away Sam. If they don’t then how’s Dean supposed to get all the attention. It’s hard to be an older brother. 

When mommy takes Sam home (Daddy isn’t back yet. They had a F-I-G-H-T) She doesn’t want to talk to Dean. I’m tired, she says. Dean doesn’t think she looks tired. He wants attention now. 

“Mommy! Whe’e stham!”

“Not now, Deanie. I’m tired. How about you go play with your cars?”

“No! I wan’ Stham! I don’ wanna play cars! I wan’ stham!” Four year old Dean’s voice reached a level not known to human ears. 

“Oh, ok, sweetie. But be gentle. He’s a baby. He’s younger than you. Don’t drop him.” Mary bent down and wagged her finger, mostly in jest, at Dean. She went out to her bedroom, and just as she hands four year old Dean the baby, he is whisked along. 

 

November Second, 1983: Lawrence Kansas

 

Dean wakes up as a cry pierces the air. It’s his mom. Adult Dean can tell. He may have been almost five, but he can remember this night. Cue John Winchester running up the stairs. Cue Mary Winchester bursting up in flames. Cue the house burning down. And cue John bursting in to wake up almost five year old Dean. 

“Take your brother. Run. don’t look back.” 

Almost five year old Dean does just that. Who’s stupid enough to cross daddy? He runs out of the house and over to his dad’s car, trying not to get a scratch or anything on it. Dad would kill him. So he sits on the hood with Sam in his arms and waits in the early morning air to see his dad run out with his mom. A fireball explodes in Sam’s room and John runs out. Almost five years old Dean asks about it, only to receive a “It’s not your business.” John shoves him away and starts to cry. 

“Boys? Daddy is going to have to leave soon, to see his friends. You can’t come. Do you want to go to Ms. Missouri’s house?”

A resounding chorus of “Yes! Yes!” sprang from the boy’s mouths. 

The memory fades and Dean finds himself on the road again.

1987, Ms. Missouri's House: Lawrence, Kansas

“Hey boys, I’m home!” John Winchester walked in the door of Ms. Missouri’s house years after he left them. The house was quiet, but no surprise to John, as Missouri might have taken them out for ice cream. After all, the afternoon was tired on the horizon, and the sun was setting.

“Hello?” John checked one more time. No response. He walked around to see what they had been up to for almost four years now. Toys of all shapes and sizes lay around the living room, and the mess was atrocious. Discarded coffee mugs lay everywhere and sippy cups were in abundance. Books lay strewn across the floor, couch, everywhere really. It’s nice to see them reading, John thought. 

Plates were out on the dining room table, but no date to their use was apparent, nor were their possible reuse. Juice stains and food splatters adorned the wall as if they were auditioning to be the new wallpaper. John had a lot of work to do. 

Four hours later

John had almost finished; the last of the plates were washed, the coffee mugs were neatly lined up, books were where they belonged, and the sippy cups and stain were all cleaned up. Ms. Missouri walked in the door with two of the most unruly boys ever and John was immediately tackled.

“Hey, Sam, Dean!”

“Daddy! Daddy! We missed you!”

“Hey boys, It’s good to be back. How did Ms. Missouri treat you?”  
“Oh, I was fine to them.” Missouri stood in the doorway, tired. It had been a long year and taking care of two toddlers wasn’t exactly the easiest thing ever. “The house looks good. Thanks for clearing it.”

“No problem. It was the least I could do. Thank you again for taking care of them for all that time.”  
John turned towards Sam and Dean to elicit a drawn out, customary ‘Thank you’, but they had long since lost interest and were currently making the dining room into the easily recognizable mess it had been before. “Hey! Stop that!”

‘Don’t worry.”

The last words are already faded when Dean finds himself whisked along to another easily recognizable night. 

Sam’s Dorm

Sam awoke to a clanging noise. Pans in the kitchen. Sam got up and picked up the bat as he crept around the apartment walls, ever careful of what the next turn may bring. More noise came from the kitchen. Sam lunged toward it, bat in hand, ready to strike, but the intruder got there first. In a short struggle, the mysterious man ended up on top. 

“Sam?”

“Dean?”

“Hey brother, long time no see!” 

And with that they commenced the usual camaraderie of two soldiers who had walked through Hell and back with each other.  
The short greeting ended as Sam walked out the back door of his dorm, kissed Jess on the cheek, and never saw her again.


	14. It's Been Too Long, Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester is in love with Castiel. He was from the moment he saw Cas in the bar. He loves him, and hunts with him. Cas is like his brother. Dean can't live without him. He knew that Cas was for him. It's a good love, but dangerous. The kind that makes you sweat at night, and go crazy during the day. Dean doesn't know what would become of him if Cas ever died. Dean would be a train wreck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been too long guys. Anyway, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to someone special, someone who I want to have these kind of fond memories with. To Hailee, my girlfriend. See you then.
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When all was new  
> When the only person I looked after  
> Was always you  
> When the road was still open  
> Still wild and free  
> And we’d sprint down it  
> Just you and me
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When we were still young  
> When there were still stories to be made  
> And still songs to be sung  
> When we were still innocent  
> We were kind and naive  
> When I looked out for you  
> And you looked up to me
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> Before the world caved in  
> When the demons we fought  
> Were outside and not within  
> When the sky was still open  
> And we’d watch the stars fall  
> When the wars were someone else’s problem  
> They wouldn’t touch us at all
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When together we were  
> We’d be laughing and cheering  
> All around town we’d be heard  
> But now we’re older  
> It’s just not the same  
> And sometimes it’s hard  
> To say each other’s name
> 
> So take me back to the start  
> Before we saw the blood and the wars  
> When nothing was impossible  
> We only had open doors  
> But now it’s hard to push on  
> The world has shattered our hearts  
> So I’m begging you, please  
> Take me back to the start
> 
> -thelonelydaydreamer (Quotev)

The Graveyard, After Burying Sam; Lawrence, Kansas

Dean couldn't face it. Sam. Dead. It seemed like a foreign word, a strange tongue. An incorrect comparison. Like, ‘Hunting is to hobby as hassling is to job.’ It was wrong. The ground felt like a language Dean hadn’t spoken in years-he found himself on the ground.

Sam’s funeral was sparse: just as he would have wanted it. Purple Heather adorned the platform, and bagpipes played Highland Cathedral and Amazing Grace. The songs were mostly of Bobby’s choosing. Dean had to agree in the end, of course. He was Sam’s brother. 

Cas attened, being the family friend, and Bobby, the surrogate father, came to comfort Dean. Bobby always knew what to say. 

“You were good to us, Sam. Real good. You would always have the latest bit of research to help Dean and me out.” Bobby always knew just what to say, albeit short and to the point. 

The eulogy was done, and Sam floated through the air, dancing among the heather and the sunflowers. The golden grain took him into its golden embrace, and Sam was finally laid to rest. All the trouble, all the turmoil. All the tears and all the pain all the angst. All of it laid to rest. The years spent worrying over survival, and the years spent loving and caring for the other. The years of ‘Yes sir’, and ‘ No sir’. All those long, hard years of obedience. Sam was still serenely floating through the meadow when Dean let loose a single man tear and uttered his words of comfort.

“Sammy, you were a great brother. I love you. And, I want you to know, I always loved you. We were always brothers, at least in my heart. I only hope you forgave me before you left. But it’s funny, I taught you everything there is to know, and hey, I thought that I was your only source of knowledge, besides that stupid computer. I thought you had nothing to teach me. And that I had everything to teach you. I was wrong. You had one lesson to teach me. How to say goodbye.”

 

Singer Auto: Sioux Falls, South Dakota  
Three Days After Sam’s Ceremony

If Dean had one wish, just one, no repercussions, He would not wish to have his brother back. No, he would wish that he was on a good slate with Sam. It still hurt to see him, just out of the corner of your eye, or standing by the door, or even laughing in the sun. Dean would imagine that he was there, anywhere really, even in the reflection of his glass. 

He saw Sam a lot in his glass. Drinking was really the only escape. Not hunting. Not sleeping, not anything. He quit hunting when Sam died. No point. Cas wasn’t physically fit enough, and his aim was horrible. He couldn't hit the broadside of a barn with a shotgun from fifty feet away. A bit of an exaggeration, Dean thought, but not that big. It was more like forty-five feet away. 

Cas was a good friend to Dean in the following months. He helped him get over it, or at least scratch the surface. Dean didn’t deal with it very well to start out. He was moping around Bobby’s place for a good while before he accepted that Sam wasn’t coming back. In the beginning, he would walk around listlessly, meandering from the salvage yard to the bedroom and back again. Dean spent a lot of time in the salvage yard. He would sleep out there, looking up at the stars. It was Sam’s favorite thing to do. 

Dean would spend hours at a time out there, either fixing up the Impala (not like it needed any work) or salvaging parts to build useless contraptions. He’d always take these apart to build new ones. When that wasn’t enough, Dean would walk outside with a crowbar, and beat up the Impala. He’d put it back together, later.

It was on one of these days that Bobby wandered out. 

“Hey boy, Whatcha doing?”

Dean was breathless, leaning over the Impala, her black side perfect amongst the dirt and dust. “Not much. Just taking a walk.”

“Yeah, right. I know what you’re up to. It’s Sam, isn’t it? You need to get your head on straight.”

“Bobby-”

“Shut up! I’ve had enough of this ‘It’s not Sam’ crap. Man up, boy! Get some sense behind that pie-hole.”

“I still feel him, Bobby. I still see him. He’s there, in the reflection of the windshield, or here, in the shadows of the car stacks. I can’t stop seeing him.”

“Come on in and have a beer.”

Bobby. Always the sensible one, Dean thinks as he steps inside the house, his eyes adjusting slowly to the considerable darker inside. He grabs a beer, and pulls up a chair, falling into his chair rather than sitting. His legs are tired, and he’s tired. Too tired. He doesn’t want to move. It’s too much work, and his heart is just a little bit too heavy. Maybe his soul is a little bit too heavy. Whatever the problem, Dean is too weak. Useless. 

The beer is cold, exquisite, with the carbonation offering a sweet contrast to the bitter flavour of alcohol. It easily slips down Dean's throat with a warmness that only beer can bring. It feels good. The only comforting thing Dean has know since Sam passed. It was already addicting, and before Dean knew it, he was reaching for another one. The hours passed, Bobby staying for only a few of them. Small talk reigned supreme within these fleeting hours and before Dean knew it, he had finished up his first six pack. 

Two hours later (It felt like thirty minutes) another half six pack was down and so was Dean. Barely conscious on the floor, Dean was sprawled on the floor with limbs sleeping at his sides. He was in the most uncomfortable position, yet felt more comfortable than he had ever felt in weeks. In his drunken state, Dean is slowly falling through the cracks in reality, not caring that he’s waste. Why should he? He’s fine, right here. He doesn’t care about anything. About Bobby, or Sam, or Cas, or even Baby. He doesn’t care if he wakes up from this mess. 

 

May Second, 1983: Lawrence, Kansas

 

Dean can see a hairless lump of disgustingness. Mommy tells him that it’s his brother and he shouldn’t yell at it so much, but Daddy isn’t here, and anyways mommy can’t make him do stuff like daddy can. Mommy says his name is ‘Sam’ but Dean can’t pronounce that yet. He settles for ‘Stham’. The letter ‘s’ is hard, and mommy doesn’t mind. Dean still thinks that they should throw away Sam. If they don’t then how’s Dean supposed to get all the attention. It’s hard to be an older brother. 

When mommy takes Sam home (Daddy isn’t back yet. They had a F-I-G-H-T) She doesn’t want to talk to Dean. I’m tired, she says. Dean doesn’t think she looks tired. He wants attention now. 

“Mommy! Whe’e stham!”

“Not now, Deanie. I’m tired. How about you go play with your cars?”

“No! I wan’ Stham! I don’ wanna play cars! I wan’ stham!” Four year old Dean’s voice reached a level not known to human ears. 

“Oh, ok, sweetie. But be gentle. He’s a baby. He’s younger than you. Don’t drop him.” Mary bent down and wagged her finger, mostly in jest, at Dean. She went out to her bedroom, and just as she hands four year old Dean the baby, he is whisked along. 

 

November Second, 1983: Lawrence Kansas

 

Dean wakes up as a cry pierces the air. It’s his mom. Adult Dean can tell. He may have been almost five, but he can remember this night. Cue John Winchester running up the stairs. Cue Mary Winchester bursting up in flames. Cue the house burning down. And cue John bursting in to wake up almost five year old Dean. 

“Take your brother. Run. don’t look back.” 

Almost five year old Dean does just that. Who’s stupid enough to cross daddy? He runs out of the house and over to his dad’s car, trying not to get a scratch or anything on it. Dad would kill him. So he sits on the hood with Sam in his arms and waits in the early morning air to see his dad run out with his mom. A fireball explodes in Sam’s room and John runs out. Almost five years old Dean asks about it, only to receive a “It’s not your business.” John shoves him away and starts to cry. 

“Boys? Daddy is going to have to leave soon, to see his friends. You can’t come. Do you want to go to Ms. Missouri’s house?”

A resounding chorus of “Yes! Yes!” sprang from the boy’s mouths. 

The memory fades and Dean finds himself on the road again.

1987, Ms. Missouri's House: Lawrence, Kansas

“Hey boys, I’m home!” John Winchester walked in the door of Ms. Missouri’s house years after he left them. The house was quiet, but no surprise to John, as Missouri might have taken them out for ice cream. After all, the afternoon was tired on the horizon, and the sun was setting.

“Hello?” John checked one more time. No response. He walked around to see what they had been up to for almost four years now. Toys of all shapes and sizes lay around the living room, and the mess was atrocious. Discarded coffee mugs lay everywhere and sippy cups were in abundance. Books lay strewn across the floor, couch, everywhere really. It’s nice to see them reading, John thought. 

Plates were out on the dining room table, but no date to their use was apparent, nor were their possible reuse. Juice stains and food splatters adorned the wall as if they were auditioning to be the new wallpaper. John had a lot of work to do. 

Four hours later

John had almost finished; the last of the plates were washed, the coffee mugs were neatly lined up, books were where they belonged, and the sippy cups and stain were all cleaned up. Ms. Missouri walked in the door with two of the most unruly boys ever and John was immediately tackled.

“Hey, Sam, Dean!”

“Daddy! Daddy! We missed you!”

“Hey boys, It’s good to be back. How did Ms. Missouri treat you?”  
“Oh, I was fine to them.” Missouri stood in the doorway, tired. It had been a long year and taking care of two toddlers wasn’t exactly the easiest thing ever. “The house looks good. Thanks for clearing it.”

“No problem. It was the least I could do. Thank you again for taking care of them for all that time.”  
John turned towards Sam and Dean to elicit a drawn out, customary ‘Thank you’, but they had long since lost interest and were currently making the dining room into the easily recognizable mess it had been before. “Hey! Stop that!”

‘Don’t worry.”

The last words are already faded when Dean finds himself whisked along to another easily recognizable night. 

Sam’s Dorm

Sam awoke to a clanging noise. Pans in the kitchen. Sam got up and picked up the bat as he crept around the apartment walls, ever careful of what the next turn may bring. More noise came from the kitchen. Sam lunged toward it, bat in hand, ready to strike, but the intruder got there first. In a short struggle, the mysterious man ended up on top. 

“Sam?”

“Dean?”

“Hey brother, long time no see!” 

And with that they commenced the usual camaraderie of two soldiers who had walked through Hell and back with each other.  
The short greeting ended as Sam walked out the back door of his dorm, kissed Jess on the cheek, and never saw her again.


	15. It's Been Too Long, Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester is in love with Castiel. He was from the moment he saw Cas in the bar. He loves him, and hunts with him. Cas is like his brother. Dean can't live without him. He knew that Cas was for him. It's a good love, but dangerous. The kind that makes you sweat at night, and go crazy during the day. Dean doesn't know what would become of him if Cas ever died. Dean would be a train wreck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been too long guys. Anyway, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to someone special, someone who I want to have these kind of fond memories with. To Hailee, my girlfriend. See you then.
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When all was new  
> When the only person I looked after  
> Was always you  
> When the road was still open  
> Still wild and free  
> And we’d sprint down it  
> Just you and me
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When we were still young  
> When there were still stories to be made  
> And still songs to be sung  
> When we were still innocent  
> We were kind and naive  
> When I looked out for you  
> And you looked up to me
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> Before the world caved in  
> When the demons we fought  
> Were outside and not within  
> When the sky was still open  
> And we’d watch the stars fall  
> When the wars were someone else’s problem  
> They wouldn’t touch us at all
> 
> Take me back to the start  
> When together we were  
> We’d be laughing and cheering  
> All around town we’d be heard  
> But now we’re older  
> It’s just not the same  
> And sometimes it’s hard  
> To say each other’s name
> 
> So take me back to the start  
> Before we saw the blood and the wars  
> When nothing was impossible  
> We only had open doors  
> But now it’s hard to push on  
> The world has shattered our hearts  
> So I’m begging you, please  
> Take me back to the start
> 
> -thelonelydaydreamer (Quotev)

The Graveyard, After Burying Sam; Lawrence, Kansas

Dean couldn't face it. Sam. Dead. It seemed like a foreign word, a strange tongue. An incorrect comparison. Like, ‘Hunting is to hobby as hassling is to job.’ It was wrong. The ground felt like a language Dean hadn’t spoken in years-he found himself on the ground.

Sam’s funeral was sparse: just as he would have wanted it. Purple Heather adorned the platform, and bagpipes played Highland Cathedral and Amazing Grace. The songs were mostly of Bobby’s choosing. Dean had to agree in the end, of course. He was Sam’s brother. 

Cas attened, being the family friend, and Bobby, the surrogate father, came to comfort Dean. Bobby always knew what to say. 

“You were good to us, Sam. Real good. You would always have the latest bit of research to help Dean and me out.” Bobby always knew just what to say, albeit short and to the point. 

The eulogy was done, and Sam floated through the air, dancing among the heather and the sunflowers. The golden grain took him into its golden embrace, and Sam was finally laid to rest. All the trouble, all the turmoil. All the tears and all the pain all the angst. All of it laid to rest. The years spent worrying over survival, and the years spent loving and caring for the other. The years of ‘Yes sir’, and ‘ No sir’. All those long, hard years of obedience. Sam was still serenely floating through the meadow when Dean let loose a single man tear and uttered his words of comfort.

“Sammy, you were a great brother. I love you. And, I want you to know, I always loved you. We were always brothers, at least in my heart. I only hope you forgave me before you left. But it’s funny, I taught you everything there is to know, and hey, I thought that I was your only source of knowledge, besides that stupid computer. I thought you had nothing to teach me. And that I had everything to teach you. I was wrong. You had one lesson to teach me. How to say goodbye.”

 

Singer Auto: Sioux Falls, South Dakota  
Three Days After Sam’s Ceremony

If Dean had one wish, just one, no repercussions, He would not wish to have his brother back. No, he would wish that he was on a good slate with Sam. It still hurt to see him, just out of the corner of your eye, or standing by the door, or even laughing in the sun. Dean would imagine that he was there, anywhere really, even in the reflection of his glass. 

He saw Sam a lot in his glass. Drinking was really the only escape. Not hunting. Not sleeping, not anything. He quit hunting when Sam died. No point. Cas wasn’t physically fit enough, and his aim was horrible. He couldn't hit the broadside of a barn with a shotgun from fifty feet away. A bit of an exaggeration, Dean thought, but not that big. It was more like forty-five feet away. 

Cas was a good friend to Dean in the following months. He helped him get over it, or at least scratch the surface. Dean didn’t deal with it very well to start out. He was moping around Bobby’s place for a good while before he accepted that Sam wasn’t coming back. In the beginning, he would walk around listlessly, meandering from the salvage yard to the bedroom and back again. Dean spent a lot of time in the salvage yard. He would sleep out there, looking up at the stars. It was Sam’s favorite thing to do. 

Dean would spend hours at a time out there, either fixing up the Impala (not like it needed any work) or salvaging parts to build useless contraptions. He’d always take these apart to build new ones. When that wasn’t enough, Dean would walk outside with a crowbar, and beat up the Impala. He’d put it back together, later.

It was on one of these days that Bobby wandered out. 

“Hey boy, Whatcha doing?”

Dean was breathless, leaning over the Impala, her black side perfect amongst the dirt and dust. “Not much. Just taking a walk.”

“Yeah, right. I know what you’re up to. It’s Sam, isn’t it? You need to get your head on straight.”

“Bobby-”

“Shut up! I’ve had enough of this ‘It’s not Sam’ crap. Man up, boy! Get some sense behind that pie-hole.”

“I still feel him, Bobby. I still see him. He’s there, in the reflection of the windshield, or here, in the shadows of the car stacks. I can’t stop seeing him.”

“Come on in and have a beer.”

Bobby. Always the sensible one, Dean thinks as he steps inside the house, his eyes adjusting slowly to the considerable darker inside. He grabs a beer, and pulls up a chair, falling into his chair rather than sitting. His legs are tired, and he’s tired. Too tired. He doesn’t want to move. It’s too much work, and his heart is just a little bit too heavy. Maybe his soul is a little bit too heavy. Whatever the problem, Dean is too weak. Useless. 

The beer is cold, exquisite, with the carbonation offering a sweet contrast to the bitter flavour of alcohol. It easily slips down Dean's throat with a warmness that only beer can bring. It feels good. The only comforting thing Dean has know since Sam passed. It was already addicting, and before Dean knew it, he was reaching for another one. The hours passed, Bobby staying for only a few of them. Small talk reigned supreme within these fleeting hours and before Dean knew it, he had finished up his first six pack. 

Two hours later (It felt like thirty minutes) another half six pack was down and so was Dean. Barely conscious on the floor, Dean was sprawled on the floor with limbs sleeping at his sides. He was in the most uncomfortable position, yet felt more comfortable than he had ever felt in weeks. In his drunken state, Dean is slowly falling through the cracks in reality, not caring that he’s waste. Why should he? He’s fine, right here. He doesn’t care about anything. About Bobby, or Sam, or Cas, or even Baby. He doesn’t care if he wakes up from this mess. 

 

May Second, 1983: Lawrence, Kansas

 

Dean can see a hairless lump of disgustingness. Mommy tells him that it’s his brother and he shouldn’t yell at it so much, but Daddy isn’t here, and anyways mommy can’t make him do stuff like daddy can. Mommy says his name is ‘Sam’ but Dean can’t pronounce that yet. He settles for ‘Stham’. The letter ‘s’ is hard, and mommy doesn’t mind. Dean still thinks that they should throw away Sam. If they don’t then how’s Dean supposed to get all the attention. It’s hard to be an older brother. 

When mommy takes Sam home (Daddy isn’t back yet. They had a F-I-G-H-T) She doesn’t want to talk to Dean. I’m tired, she says. Dean doesn’t think she looks tired. He wants attention now. 

“Mommy! Whe’e stham!”

“Not now, Deanie. I’m tired. How about you go play with your cars?”

“No! I wan’ Stham! I don’ wanna play cars! I wan’ stham!” Four year old Dean’s voice reached a level not known to human ears. 

“Oh, ok, sweetie. But be gentle. He’s a baby. He’s younger than you. Don’t drop him.” Mary bent down and wagged her finger, mostly in jest, at Dean. She went out to her bedroom, and just as she hands four year old Dean the baby, he is whisked along. 

 

November Second, 1983: Lawrence Kansas

 

Dean wakes up as a cry pierces the air. It’s his mom. Adult Dean can tell. He may have been almost five, but he can remember this night. Cue John Winchester running up the stairs. Cue Mary Winchester bursting up in flames. Cue the house burning down. And cue John bursting in to wake up almost five year old Dean. 

“Take your brother. Run. don’t look back.” 

Almost five year old Dean does just that. Who’s stupid enough to cross daddy? He runs out of the house and over to his dad’s car, trying not to get a scratch or anything on it. Dad would kill him. So he sits on the hood with Sam in his arms and waits in the early morning air to see his dad run out with his mom. A fireball explodes in Sam’s room and John runs out. Almost five years old Dean asks about it, only to receive a “It’s not your business.” John shoves him away and starts to cry. 

“Boys? Daddy is going to have to leave soon, to see his friends. You can’t come. Do you want to go to Ms. Missouri’s house?”

A resounding chorus of “Yes! Yes!” sprang from the boy’s mouths. 

The memory fades and Dean finds himself on the road again.

1987, Ms. Missouri's House: Lawrence, Kansas

“Hey boys, I’m home!” John Winchester walked in the door of Ms. Missouri’s house years after he left them. The house was quiet, but no surprise to John, as Missouri might have taken them out for ice cream. After all, the afternoon was tired on the horizon, and the sun was setting.

“Hello?” John checked one more time. No response. He walked around to see what they had been up to for almost four years now. Toys of all shapes and sizes lay around the living room, and the mess was atrocious. Discarded coffee mugs lay everywhere and sippy cups were in abundance. Books lay strewn across the floor, couch, everywhere really. It’s nice to see them reading, John thought. 

Plates were out on the dining room table, but no date to their use was apparent, nor were their possible reuse. Juice stains and food splatters adorned the wall as if they were auditioning to be the new wallpaper. John had a lot of work to do. 

Four hours later

John had almost finished; the last of the plates were washed, the coffee mugs were neatly lined up, books were where they belonged, and the sippy cups and stain were all cleaned up. Ms. Missouri walked in the door with two of the most unruly boys ever and John was immediately tackled.

“Hey, Sam, Dean!”

“Daddy! Daddy! We missed you!”

“Hey boys, It’s good to be back. How did Ms. Missouri treat you?”  
“Oh, I was fine to them.” Missouri stood in the doorway, tired. It had been a long year and taking care of two toddlers wasn’t exactly the easiest thing ever. “The house looks good. Thanks for clearing it.”

“No problem. It was the least I could do. Thank you again for taking care of them for all that time.”  
John turned towards Sam and Dean to elicit a drawn out, customary ‘Thank you’, but they had long since lost interest and were currently making the dining room into the easily recognizable mess it had been before. “Hey! Stop that!”

‘Don’t worry.”

The last words are already faded when Dean finds himself whisked along to another easily recognizable night. 

Sam’s Dorm

Sam awoke to a clanging noise. Pans in the kitchen. Sam got up and picked up the bat as he crept around the apartment walls, ever careful of what the next turn may bring. More noise came from the kitchen. Sam lunged toward it, bat in hand, ready to strike, but the intruder got there first. In a short struggle, the mysterious man ended up on top. 

“Sam?”

“Dean?”

“Hey brother, long time no see!” 

And with that they commenced the usual camaraderie of two soldiers who had walked through Hell and back with each other.  
The short greeting ended as Sam walked out the back door of his dorm, kissed Jess on the cheek, and never saw her again.


End file.
